


Let’s See the Daybreak Again Tomorrow

by Allece



Series: Let’s See the Daybreak Again Tomorrow [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deadlights (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Fix-It, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Like, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunions, Richie Tozier is a Mess too, Richie kinda dies, Role Reversal, So much angst, Stanley Uris Lives, Temporary Character Death, The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT), Time Loop, all of them because I am a sucker for happy endings, isn't he always though?, sorts of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allece/pseuds/Allece
Summary: “Richie, Richie! I think I got it, man!” Eddie’s warm hands encompass Richie’s face, shaking him awake. And he is. More than ever, with Eddie’s smile glowing brightly above him. He reaches his hand up—“There he is, buddy! I think I did it, Rich, I think I killed—“—and with all the newfound power he has, rolls them over. The air is forced out of his lungs, and he can’t see for a moment.He can’t breathe.Eddie has blood on his aghast face, but it’s not coming from his mouth. Richie hears someone scream. Bev? Bill? He isn’t sure, as the remnants of the white, hot pain throb all around his body and stomach too. He peers down and sees a claw piercing him.It’s not piercing Eddie.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Series: Let’s See the Daybreak Again Tomorrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1844818
Comments: 48
Kudos: 285





	1. Spurious Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a year later and I’m still not over that clown movie, it seems. Is there anybody here with me? I needed more fics where Richie dies instead of Eddie because there are some, but he doesn’t _really_ die, ya know? Just injured and that is not enough **drama** for me! So here, I wrote it. The POV switches from Richie's to Eddie's in different chapters. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ⦾Side note, English is not my native language, so sorry if there are any mistakes!  
> ⦾Another side note! I have not read the whole book and only know the lore by movies and other fanfics.
> 
> Also here is my insta if you're interested @allece_tea.

⦿⦿⦿

Not that he didn’t expect something like that to happen. His loud mouth has always been the subject of countless eye-rolls and Beep, Beep’s in the good old times. Sue him, but he made a career out of that. And right now he wanted to put it to use one more time, to save Mike.

Richie didn’t know where the “ _You wanna play truth or dare?_ ” came from. He guessed that the incident with Paul Bunyan statue was the final straw in the years of fear and self-loathing he’d put himself through while repressing his _oh not so straight_ sexuality. He felt empowered, in some way, saying out loud the phrase that taunted him. He was tired of being afraid. Richie felt strong again like he was when he had smashed the clown’s head with the bat. Well, until he got hit with the Deadlights, and all the surroundings both shut down and exploded on him at once.

And he _floated_. The world turning upside down.

All the memories suddenly began coming back to him in tidal waves, one after another. His family, his _real_ family. How could he ever forget? No, wait, he didn’t. Richie always felt them - deep inside, in the back of his brain, embedded in his bones, in his skin. They were all stacked as dimmed outlines behind the walls upon walls that stupid alien clown built.

Now, his childhood fought through the haze, becoming sharper, clearer. All the memories they had put up together, the small pieces of his missing life finally sliding back into one complete jigsaw. All the countless cigarettes and drunken confessions he’d shared with Beverly. _His beautiful best girl Beverly._ All the mayhem he’d put himself into, with Bill fearlessly following suit. _Bill who never ever doubted him._ All of the quiet giggles and supportive pats on the back Ben had always provided without hesitation. _Ben, the big heart of the group._ All the tasty homemade cooking he’d been offered from Mike, not out of pity but genuine care. _Poor Mike who cared so much about them, who stayed in this shithole of a town for 27 years._

All the knowing glances and stares Stan had given him.

All the sleepless nights he had spent curled around in Eddie’s bed, sharing little talks with him, lying so close he could outline every constellation of boy’s freckles.

He has forgotten all of it. He didn’t want to.

Not that any of that could be helped right now. Bright flashes of the past oppressively burnt his eyes, as the singular memory stuck out. Richie wishes it didn’t. It reminded him of how much of a coward he really is.

Richie knew long before the graduation that his parents wanted him to leave Derry as soon as possible, to leave them. They made a deal with him - they will pay for his bills, with some money boundaries of course, if he fucks off to wherever he wants and never bothers them again. He knew where and he knew when. He also knew that he couldn’t bear to tell Losers about it. Beverly had already left, with Ben and Bill following shortly after the graduation. Mike, Stan and Eddie didn’t know where they were going, and Richie came up with some bullshit about thinking of New York. Their spirits were already down, and he didn’t want to lower them even further, telling his friends he will be off to the other side of the country. Maybe that was the stupidest decision he had ever made in his life because the other thing he knew was that he would have to tell them eventually. And he did. Right before he left.

Eddie hated him.

⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋

“Eddie, please, wait!“ Richie chased the boy as he ran off from the clubhouse where the leftovers of the group were hanging out. He grabbed his hand, still sweet with the Sour Patch they were sharing just a minute ago.

“Why don’t you fuck off?! Get lost!” Eddie cried, yanking his hand away, eyes full of fury.

“I won’t leave you! Please let me—“ Richie pleaded, trying to get ahold of a boy’s hand only to be brushed off again.

“You already are!” Eddie took few steps back, small water drops brimming at the edges of his brown eyes. “You’re annoying, you promised me—you’re a fucking _liar_!”

Richie inhaled sharply as he felt the words stab him through the heart, his head was spinning in this summer’s heat. They both looked at each other’s watery eyes in silence. Richie wanted so bad to hug him, to hold him, to do something to wipe off this pained expression from Eddie’s face. But he was too scared to do anything. Only a few seconds passed, but for Richie, it felt like an eternity.

He gulped, swallowing the tears which were threatening to spill. “Eddie, please. I need to tell you something before—“

“I don’t wanna hear it… Just-just leave me alone already.” Eddie’s soft voice was merely above the whisper, but still so undeniably filled with hurt and disenchantment. It made Richie’s heart die a little. “Just go.” Eddie dropped, as he turned around and run away into the blinding sunset.

He never looked back as he left. Richie stood there alone in the evening glow, with words he had not been able to say, drowning in scarlet.

⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋

He remembers now - this was the last time Richie had seen this beautiful doe eyes look at him, up until the Jade of Orient. Maybe some selfish part of him was happy that he forgot. With this journey down the memory lane, he recalls just how much in his life he regrets not doing, not saying, not pursuing, slowly decaying inside.

 _I wrote him a letter,_ Richie thinks. _I never sent it._

Eddie was his best friend. The love he felt for Eddie was a love for a friend.

This was the biggest lie he had ever conceived. It took all he had in him to maintain it that way throughout so many years. Although Eddie was never going to hear his thoughts, Richie didn’t know why he had tried so hard to hide his true feelings. He never wanted to lie to Eddie. On one hand, he knew his friend well enough to understand that he would never truly judge or despise Richie for what he is. On the other, he didn’t want to see Eddie’s disappointed face when he would found out his best friend didn’t trust him. But Richie **did** lie to him, and that can’t be changed. He tried lying to himself to somehow alleviate the pain he felt, which only led to more sleepless nights, and tears he couldn’t dry. Years ran by, and he is still…

So much has changed in these 20 plus something years apart, but at the same time, it seems like nothing has changed at all. He loved Eddie then, and he loves Eddie still. Seeing him again and all the same, caused this omnipresent anxiety to crawl up Richie’s throat. He forgot how hard it was to play friends when he really didn’t want to be.

Isn’t there an expression - “ _the sea is calm before the storm_ ”? Because compared to the devastation he though his farewell with Eddie had been, what came next was the bottomless pit of despair.

His mind is going up and down in circles. It feels like years of memories, feelings and thoughts are both tearing him to pieces and sewing him up into a whole until he felt the light rapidly fade and get replaced with the dark of the cavern.

Richie falls, hitting his brains harsh on the rocks beneath. _Nice addition to his already bursting head._ His eyes slowly flutter open, seeing white pulsating around the edges in time with his heartbeat. Richie scrunches his nose as blurred outline appears above him. After a few seconds or maybe after another 27 years he finally recognises his best friend. No. The helpless, everlasting, childhood love of his life engulfed in the dim glow of the cave.

Eddie is saying something, his lips moving rapidly, but Richie can’t hear him through the deafening staccato ringing in his ears. He thinks Eddie says his name a few times, which is nice, but he isn’t sure. Eddie looks so fucking happy and proud, and Richie really wants to kiss him. And just like that Eddie’s joyful face contorts into the same expression he had when Richie told him he was going to leave. Richie’s already obscured vision is now distorted by the red spots on his glasses. _Is this blood?_ ** _Oh, God_** _. Is this_ ** _Eddie’s_** _blood?_ He doesn’t want to look down, feeling drops of warm liquid mark his clothes. Richie’s hearing comes back from the white void only to catch Eddie’s strangled plea of his name.

“ _Ed…die?_ ” Richie chokes, as the man above is pulled away and thrown against the other side of the lair. The raw thuds Eddie’s body makes when hitting the stones, causes Richie’s eyes to burn, and his body flinches despite still being half lethargic.

When Richie comes to his senses, he is already sprinting with the others to the man now lying in a cleft, blood intensely pouring from his stomach. What used to be his stomach. Now it’s blood and guts and dirt and bones and skin - all mingled together. _Oh God._ Richie’s heart is beating in his throat, he feels like he is going to throw up. Eddie whizzes and grunts, as others steady him up against the nearby rocks but this is good, right? _If he still breathes, that means he is still alive, right?_

They talk, Richie hears the Losers talk but doesn’t register what they say. He is too focused on staring at a gaping hole overtaking Eddie’s torso and chest. He is staring at it as if hoping it will magically make it disappear. Richie hurriedly takes off his jacket, balling it up and pressing it against the wound, hard. Eddie hisses, which is another good thing - that means he still feels pain. Eddie talks about the Leaper and how he made it small, Mike says some bullshit about the laws all living things should abide by. Richie doesn’t care. He can’t concentrate on any of that with how hard he is trying not to cry. _So much blood. Why does Eddie have so much blood, he is so small._

Ben finds another crack to go through, while Pennywise’s claw continues to hectically scratch at the chasm’s opening. Bill helps Richie as they carry and place Eddie against another bundle of rocks. Eddie gasps and more blood bubbles down his already damp chin. _Please._ Others go and begin to fight the clown again. Richie stays. He can’t, he can’t leave Eddie. Not again. He presses his jacket tighter, but this time Eddie doesn’t flinch.

“Richie… _Rich_ ,” Eddie calls, voice slurred and so weak. It’s not right. He should be loud, he should be full of life, shouldn’t he? “Need to tell you somethin’…” He sluggishly puts his hand onto Richie’s as if to get his attention. And he does, he always has Richie’s attention.

“What? What is it, Eddie?” Richie is crying now, he can’t feel it on his skin, but he definitely hears it in his voice, tastes the salt in his mouth.

“I fucked your mom.”

Richie just sadly stares at him, not knowing what to say to that. If it was under different circumstances it would have been hilarious - _Eddie gets off a good one._ \- but it’s not. Eddie laughs and coughs. Though it’s kinda pointless with so much blood, Richie still reaches and wipes it off. “You’re gonna be okay.” He is not sure if he is trying to persuade Eddie or himself.

“You should go. Help ‘em.”

Richie crooks and shakes his head, he’s trembling so bad. “Can’t.”

“Richie,” Richie looks up into the eyes that look like they can hold galaxies upon galaxies of stars. “I’ll be here. Promise. Just go.”

And he goes, and they defeat IT. But Eddie is not breathing when they come back. His icy cheek stings Richie’s palm. _I don’t want it to be the end. Not like this._ Richie wants to stay. He doesn’t want to go. He thinks he kicks Ben in the nose with his elbow when the man drags him out of Neibolt, away from Eddie.

_“You can’t leave him! Please—Eddie hates the dark, we can’t leave him down there!”_

Richie feels in a daze after that. They go—they lead him to the quarry, he thinks. All the remaining losers pile up around him, while he has a breakdown. They want to help, but it can’t be helped. Because Eddie is dead and Richie can’t do anything about it.

And then abruptly he is being pulled down. His head hurts. He opens his eyes only to see Eddie’s lively face before him. Richie tries to speak, but he can’t. Then he hears the crunching sound of bones, and blood spills over his face.

And then it happens again.

And _again._

And **a g a i n.**

Eddie’s blood on Richie’s face, burning his tongue. Eddie’s lacerated stomach. The crush of Eddie’s ribcage reverberating through Richie’s skull. Eddie’s limp and cold body in his arms. Eddie being taken away from him.

_Richie, it hurts._

_Richie, I can’t breathe._

_Rich, I’m scared._

Sometimes Richie goes when Eddie asks him to, sometimes he lingers. He doesn’t see a point in any of that, but he tries to stay with him as long as he can anyway. Hear Eddie’s last breaths, see Eddie’s last smile. Hear Eddie’s last words, though they are the shittiest he could’ve come up with it’s Eddie’s nonetheless. Sometimes Richie kisses him. It’s not a very nice kiss because there are blood mud and greywater - _Jesus fuck, Richie, it’s so unsanitary!_ \- but if he doesn’t do it, he feels he is going to go insane. Eddie never says anything about it, because it is always a goodbye kiss and Eddie is already dead at that point.

He lost count of how many times he has seen it. Richie feels like it is him who is being mutilated and torn inside out. He can try to persuade himself that it is nice, seeing Eddie again, alive as if he has been given a second chance. Except it isn’t. Because it’s always before he can save him, because he is always a second too late, a second too slow. Because he can’t do anything. Because it is hell.

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_God, why does this keep happening, I can’t take it anymore. Please stop._

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_Why him? What did he do wrong?_

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_Please, don’t go. Wake up! Don’t leave me…_

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_Can there be a better ending? Is it too much to ask for?_

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_If there is a future without Eddie, I don’t want it._

**⦿⦿⦿**

**REPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEAT**

…

**⦿⦿⦿**

**REPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEAT**

…

**⦿⦿⦿**

**REPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEATREPEAT**

…

**⦿⦿⦿**

**REPEATREPEATREPEATREPEAT**

…

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_Take me instead. I don’t have anything to lose. Eddie doesn’t fucking deserve it, he has so much to live for. It should be me._

⦿⦿⦿

**REPEAT**

_God, universe, any higher power. Someone,_ **_please…_ **

⦾⦾⦾

It is hot. Richie feels the heat, but it’s not desiccating or scalding like Deadlights had felt before. It’s something different.

**E n d l e s s.**

He thinks he hears someone.

⦾⦾⦾

And then he falls. Hard. It’s not the same as other rounds, it feels more…tangible. It hurts. Richie opens his eyes, and everything is sharper this time.

“Richie, Richie! I think I got it, man!” Eddie’s warm hands encompass Richie’s face, shaking him awake. And he is. More than ever, with Eddie’s smile glowing brightly above him. He reaches his hand up—

“There he is, buddy! I think I did it, Rich, I think I killed—“

—and with all the newfound power he has, rolls them over. The air is forced out of his lungs, and he can’t see for a moment. _He can’t breathe._

Eddie has blood on his aghast face, but it’s not coming from his mouth. Richie hears someone scream. Bev? Bill? He isn’t sure, as the remnants of the white, hot pain throb all around his body and stomach too. He peers down and sees a claw piercing him. It’s not piercing Eddie. _Maybe there is going to be a better ending._ He meets Eddie’s gaze and tries to smile.

“ _Ri…chie,_ “

The pain is too much to handle, so he blacks out for a few seconds. When he’s aware of his surroundings again, he is propped up against the wall of rocks, with Eddie frantically trying to stop the blood swiftly flowing from his wound. It’s the mirror image of his Deadlights nightmare, with roles reversed. Eddie looks distraught, Richie wonders if he had looked the same. It’s nice. It reminds him of when he fell from his bike into the ravine. _“Eds, look at what I can do!” “Don’t call—Richie be careful!” “Agh!”_ Eddie looked so cute, angrily screaming at Richie at the same time as carefully attentively treating his cuts and bruises.

“—chie, Richie, can you hear me?! Wake up, you moron!” He groans as Eddie cups his cheek.

“Heya, Eds.”

“H-hey.” He stammers out, with some semblance of relief on his face. Then Eddie just kinda stares at him for a moment. Richie can’t quite decipher the emotion in his dark amber eyes, and it’s not because his glasses are somewhere, broken in a ditch.

There are a sudden gash and roar, and Richie can hear some small rocks rolling down the cave gutter.

“ **SOMEONE’S CHEATED,** ” IT’s sickeningly sweet voice chants. “YOU CAN’T! IT’S UNFAIR! **UNFAIR!** COME OUT AND PLAY A _FAIR_ GAME, RICHIE!”

“We need to get him out of here. **Right. Now.** ” Eddie declares sternly when others come rushing down to their aid. They all appear in varied phases of heartbroken. That’s sweet.

“No, _wait,_ ” Richie croaks and hastily grabs Eddie’s wrist. The man glances at him in confusion. “The Leaper - you made it small. Weak. That’s-That’s how we can defeat IT.”

Eddie’s pinched face smooths out as understanding ignites his face. Richie doesn’t want to let go of his hand, but he has no power to hold it either. He is so exhausted. “The Leaper I-I put my arms around its throat.”

They go through the usual antics Richie is so familiar with, so he doesn’t care. Instead, he gazes at Eddie as the man speaks, trying to remember every line of his face, the ever-present pinch between his eyebrows, every little detail that had changed or stayed the same after so many years apart. Eddie glances at him worriedly several times, making sure he is still awake. They drag Richie through the same crack Ben finds.

Eddie stays, while Richie feels life slowly draining from his body. Surprisingly, he doesn’t mind it at all, or maybe it’s just another lie he tells himself to not feel terrified. Dying is scary, especially down here but as long as it’s not Eddie, maybe he can be content with it.

“C’mon, Richie, try to move your digits, can you feel them? Focus on my voice, okay? Don’t fall asleep, you idiot! Don’t close your eyes, it’s gonna be okay.” Eddie puts more pressure on the injury, and Richie feels impossibly dizzy. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Dr K’s gonna make sure of that?” Richie tries to huff a laugh but is too overwhelmed by the pain shooting up his spine. “ _Ngh._ I knew it hurt like a bitch but didn’t know it was that bad, _hrk—_ “ He inhales sharply, his throat constricting, and then he coughs some more blood. “Fuck, I sound like you.”

Eddie eyes him with bewilderment and then glances down at the wound. Once again recognition appears in those brown eyes. “ _Richie…_ ” He says, in the tone he used when he knew Richie did something stupid. This time it is more astonished rather than scolding. If Richie had any energy to cry, he would.

“It was for the best.”

“Oh God, _no,_ don’t say that.” And it looks like all the resolve Eddie had is gone seeing as tears start furiously rolling down his cheeks. He whimpers. “ _Don’t—Richie._ ” Eddie takes a deep breath. “You’re going to be _fine_. You’re not fucking dying on me, you asshole. Not today, _not ever._ Do you hear me?“

“ ’Tis okay Eddie.” _That’s a lie - he doesn’t want to die. Not then, not now. At least now it is with a purpose, isn’t it?_ Richie gulps, and his throat is impossibly dry even with all the blood in it. “Was weak. ‘m sorry. So scared…”

“Wha—What are you talking about, Richie? You are not weak. I was, I am— _Fuck!…_ ” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and sobs. Richie hears the others as they utilise all of their final ounces of strength to put Pennywise down, hurling him with insults like they are 13 again. Eddie needs to go help them, but Richie allows himself to be a little bit selfish and keep him for one more minute.

“Thank you,” Richie says, his voice coming feeble, almost inaudible if Eddie wasn’t so close.

“For what?” Eddie’s voice is strained with tears.

“For having been born. ’m really grateful to have met somebody like you.”

“ _Richie—_ “

“ ’S always so sad to say goodbye to you.” Eddie slides one of his hands onto the nape of Richie’s neck and leans in to place their foreheads together. He closes his eyes and cries silently, only whimpers which sound a lot like Richie’s name coming out.

He needs to tell him. One last thing.

“Eds _,_ ”

“ _Rich,_ ” He sounds like a child again. His lower lip is quivering, and he bites it down. Richie can feel Eddie’s body tremble. “Please, don’t go… I just-I just got you back, man, you can’t do this to me. Not again, Richie. No. _You can’t._ “ He sways his head slightly to punctuate his words.

“I loved you.” It’s easier to say than he thought it would be. It’s like saying something obvious, a fact, something that is definite. _Why was it so hard to say back then?_ “I loved you, that summer, every summer. Always.”

Eddie opens his eyes and stares at him stunned. His mouth gapes open as he searches something in Richie’s eyes as if to confirm he is telling the truth. _Was that actually that much of a secret to begin with?_ ”Ri—“

“You were beautiful.” Richie’s consciousness is somewhat fading in and out at this point, but he still can see Eddie’s now panicked expression.

“You— **No!** You don’t get to do this to me, Richie.” Richie tries to inhale, but he can’t. And it’s okay, he thinks. “Not like this!” Eddie continues to gently stroke and shake Richie's head to get him to come to. It is pointless though, even if Richie really wants to stay.

_Finally said it to him, right Stan? I kept my promise, didn’t I? Gonna see you soon, bud._

“No, no, no! Richie, look at me! _Look at me!_ Please, Richie… **_Rich._** Please, don’t leave me again… I’m so sorry, Chee, don’t go— _Don’t go…_ Richie I—”

Everything shifts to black. 


	2. Nebulous Afterglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! One new chapter seasoned with Eddie’s reflections on his life and Richie. Next chapter is going to be a little bit happier, I promise.

⦾⦾⦾

“No, no, no! Richie, look at me! _Look at me!_ Please, Richie… **_Rich._** Please, don’t leave me again… I’m so sorry, Chee, don’t go— _Don’t go_ … Richie I— **I love you.** _God, please, no…_ Open your eyes!” Eddie lightly shakes Richie’s head. Panic rises up his throat as he feels man’s body go limp. _No._

“Eddie, we need you here!” Mike calls, and he doesn’t want to go, but he knows he has to.

“Okay, Richie, _okay_. I will be back soon, please just-just hold on. Just wait for me.” Eddie’s pretty sure that Richie doesn’t hear him anymore, yet it brings him some sort of reassurance being able to speak to him as if he’s still alive. **No.** Not _if_. Richie _is_ still alive, and Eddie is going to get him out of here.

Eddie leans in and kisses Richie’s forehead, hoping that it is not the last time he can do that. When he comes to scream insults with the other Losers, he catches how small and meek the clown has become. Its power slowly dissipates, a vice which was around Eddie’s throat loosens - now IT’s the one who is scared.

“For the past, you made us forget.” Bill roughly prods IT’s chest and extracts what looks like Pennywise’s heart.

“For the lives, you have taken from us.” Mike lays his own hand onto the beating flesh.

“For the future, you wanted to take from us.” Ben reaches to touch.

“For Stan.” Bev steps closer.

“For Richie.” Eddie narrows his eyes staring down at the remains of their enemy. _For me._

Crushing IT’s heart is the most satisfying thing Eddie has done in the last two decades. Maybe even in his whole life aside from the time when he stood up to his mother. _Wow, it’s quite sad to think that_ ** _that_** _was the peak of his life._ The ashes begin to float upwards, dissipating into the air while its blood continues to drip down their hands. Blood dripping down… _Richie._

Eddie swiftly turns on his heels and stumbles back to where Richie is slumped against the rocks. He cups his cheek with the hand not covered in blood. Though to be fair, both of his hands are covered in blood.

“Richie, Richie! We killed, _fuck_ , we killed IT! We can go home now. _Rich…_ ” His voice wavers, noticing the man’s unfocused and glassy eyes staring down at the pavement.

Eddie freezes, gawking at Richie’s face. Without moving his gaze, Eddie slides his hand down to the pulse point under his jaw. _He doesn’t feel anything. Richie is…_

“Honey, he’s dead.” Eddie’s throat constricts, and his vision clouds a bit.

“ _No!_ He is okay, he’s… He’s just hurt! Can’t you see?” Eddie hectically looks back and forth between others and Richie. If he didn’t spot the pulse right away, it doesn’t mean Richie is dead. It’s just very weak because he is hurt, he needs help. _He hates when Richie is hurt._ “Richie’s still alive! We need—we need to get him out of here, carry him. C’mon guys, please… _I—_ “ His voice hitches at the end just as one of the rocks crashes echoing down the cave. Ben and Mike duck when some more land very close to them.

“Eddie, we need to go.” Bill kneels down next to him and places a firm hand on his shoulder, Eddie shakes his head.

He surges to hug Richie close - closer than he had ever allowed himself to - and lets out a wet stuttering exhale. Tears graze his cheeks, and he scrunches his eyes close, burying his face deep in Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s skin is so cold under the collar of his shirt, Eddie shivers. “ _No, please, please…_ ” Eddie hears himself mumble, his speech littering with snivelling, pleads, and no’s and Richie’s name. He doesn’t register how cavern shudders or how the Losers yell his name. He acknowledges, however, being hauled away, and to that he instinctively grasps anything he can get ahold off of Richie’s - his face, his clothes, his arms. He doesn’t want to say goodbye.

“ _Please—_ ”

“Eddie, I’m sorry, but we need to go! Everything is going to crush down.” Ben gently encircles Eddie’s shoulders from behind and carefully leads him over to the cavern exit. Eddie’s eyes dance desperately over Richie’s face, and he suddenly springs, trying to claw out of the firm embrace.

“His glasses— _Where are his glasses?_ He can’t see without his glasses, how will he find a way out? He needs them, _please..._ He can’t see—“

“Eddie, listen to me!” Beverly strictly grabs his face to snap him out of his hysteria. Her voice is harsh but still laced with so much kindness. And Eddie listens because he always listens to what Bev has to say. “We need to leave. Richie wouldn’t have wanted you to stay down here. He died for you to live, _you understand?_ ”

Eddie emits a short high pitched whine but lets himself be dragged away from Richie, up the well and out of the house as it crumbles down.

When all is gone Eddie drops down to his knees and weeps. He doesn’t care about the ugly cries and whimpers escaping his throat or the soggy clothes squelching as his body convulses or the dust from the asphalt sticking to his damp hair. Eddie flinches when warm bodies press all around him. Someone grabs his hand and squeezes tight, he squeezes it back.

They go to the Townhouse because where the fuck else are they going to wash themselves, in the quarry? Eddie is a wreck, but he hasn’t completely lost his mind to clean himself off of filthy water in another filthy water. The Losers stumble into the foyer; Mike slumps on the couch, and Ben leans on the bar counter, exhaling deeply. Yeah, they all feel and look like shit. Eddie passes the mirror on the wall and notices his own dishevelled and crummy appearance. Not to be selfish or anything, but he thinks he wins the prize of being the most broken among their group.

“Eddie…” Bill starts, however, Bev puts an arm on his shoulder and fixes him with a meaningful look. Eddie is too tired to decipher what it means, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer anyway. Eddie feels others eye him while he silently walks up the stairs and into his room.

When entering, he abruptly stops in his tracks and blinks. Wait. His bathroom is smeared with Bower’s blood. Fuck. He thinks he can’t handle to see any more blood today. In one quick motion, Eddie blindly snatches some clothes from his suitcase and slowly walks to Richie’s room. Richie wouldn’t have minded, he supposes. _God, maybe he could’ve ended up in there with Richie if he was brave enough after they won. If Richie stayed alive._ Eddie opens the door and takes in his surroundings. It’s generally the same as his suite aside from the small mess - some clothes scattered around on the unkempt bed and shoved inside the duffle bag. _He stayed the same, huh._

Eddie doesn’t know how long he spends in the shower. After he slides down the tiles and hugs his knees to his chest, he kinda drifts off into his thoughts.

When Richie got impaled he didn’t look surprised or sad, he looked… relieved, and that is what’s destroying Eddie from the inside. _Why the fuck would this fucker be relieved? Why would he try to smile and laugh at Eddie, while bleeding to his fucking death?_ “I don’t know,” Eddie whispers to no one in particular, but he knew well enough. Because Eddie would do the same. He did the same, as he had fathomed from Richie’s reactions and words. Because Richie loved him. Because Eddie _loves—_

Regret. That’s the word of the day, of this whole fucking week.

Eddie blankly stares at the murky water swirling and descending down the drain, like the lost time which he can never bring back. He wants to blame himself, but he knows it wasn’t his fault. Richie always wanted to protect him, though Eddie had desperately hoped that one day he could do the same for Richie. He wanted to do that, he got the chance to do that. He wanted to be brave for Richie. Even that Eddie had failed miserably. Now the disappointment and heartache are bursting through his chest.

The bathroom walls are frigid, but it kinda helps to alleviate some pain in Eddie’s muscles. He wonders if he would be able to walk tomorrow after so much stress his body has experienced. Eddie closes his eyes, and pictures of the past emerge behind his eyelids. He sees younger Richie - his black unruly curls, those stupid shirts, his puffy cheeks and dangling limbs, his pretty, wide smiles that had stayed the same after so many years.

Eddie is not fond of summer that much especially the blazing dry peak of it. When it’s so hot, you are swimming in your own sweat and wrestling for breaths which in turn scorch your throat. Eddie resents the heat - it’s slick and disgusting. He hated the summers, but he _loved_ spending them with the Losers, with Richie. It was a small blessing every moment he got to sit near him - on the quarry’s rocky bank, in Richie’s room, in the back of his car, in the hammock - just having meaningless conversations, bickering and occasionally touching. _Those were the days._

Back then, Eddie felt safe. Not like any other times. With his mother or Myra, the sanctuary was imposed on him, overwhelming and suffocating, metamorphosing into the cage. He felt safe in a good way, secure and strong. It was the protection which radiates naturally from loved ones. The one you’re supposed to feel near people you care about and who care about you. Who will cover your back when necessary but never treat you like a porcelain doll. They recognised he was capable of many things they persuaded him he was capable of many things. Eddie even believed it himself. They were ready to do so much for each other. Myra would have never done something that Richie was ready to do for Eddie. What Richie **did** for Eddie.

He plunges further into the tub, allowing the water stream to do all the work.

Eddie swallows and contemplates if he would rather have Richie not confess his love. Ignorance is truly a bliss. It is better not to know that your feelings were mutual only for the person to be taken away. He can’t do anything with this information now except lament about the past.

It felt like home. He always felt like home with Richie. With others too but with Richie it was different. Eddie always knew that, he didn’t try to deflect it. He felt fairly certain about his attraction towards Richie right from the gecko, he just never really thought, he could get a chance to— _No. That’s a_ ** _lie._**

Eddie sinks into himself, body tensing up as he places his forehead on his knees. He had multiple hunches that he might have a chance, he was just scared out of his mind to act on them. Eddie got so used to being locked in a box that he forgot he wasn’t content with it. Nothing has changed, though. Richie told him he was brave, but Eddie assumes that’s a misconception Richie had conjured up from the hazy memories of the past. Of course, he believed in Eddie, that stupid guy with his big stupid heart and faith in his friends.

He doesn’t even know if, in the end, Richie heard Eddie say that he loves him back. If at least he gave him some last type of solace. Because apart from that Eddie didn’t provide anything in return. He didn’t say how much he missed Richie, how much he regrets cutting them off, how much he loves him. How much he wishes they could have grown up hand in hand, maybe at some point coming to terms with their affection for each other and building a new life together. Richie gave him so much, and he couldn’t even… _So worthless, it should have been him inste—_

Eddie rapidly stands up, leaning on the wall for a second when few black spots darken his vision. He needs to stop wallowing in his own self-pity, or he will do something stupid. He recalls what Beverly told him - Richie did it for him and for that, he should be grateful.

He finishes rinsing off the remaining speckles of dirt out of his hair and puts on the clean clothes. It brings him a minuscule sense of facilitation. That’s something at least. Eddie slowly exits the bathroom and after some pondering sits on the edge of Richie’s bed. The sheets are smooth and cool under his touch, and he remembers how Richie’s skin had felt. Tears threaten to spill again, and his gaze falls on the maroon hoodie, messily sticking out of the bag. He timidly grabs it.

Eddie gulps. He doesn’t know if they need to contact someone to inform them about Richie. He doesn’t know if _he_ needs to call or _who_ he needs to call. He doesn’t know if Richie has anyone. His parents are probably dead or have no care for Richie, and he hasn’t heard anything about his friends, coworkers or else. Richie is a considerably famous comedian and should have a lot of people associated with him. **_God_** _, he doesn’t know anything about Richie’s life, and he will never get an opportunity to._

Eddie clutches the cloth in his hands and his mouth twitches while few drops escape his eyes and stain the fabric. He lets out a watery exhale which sounds more like a wheeze and doubles over, hiding his face in the pullover. He really didn’t want Richie to go. Not then, not now, _not ever._

 _Please don’t leave me alone again. I have no idea what to do next._ Eddie chokes out a sob.

The material is soft and warm under his touch and smells like firewood, with a faint hint of leather and sea buckthorn. _Richie used to smell a lot like that._ It’s somewhat comforting. Eddie clasps it tighter and throws his legs on the mattress, so now he’s lying sideways on the edge of the bed. There are few clothes underneath him, but he honestly doesn’t care since the more of Richie, the merrier.

He liked how there always was so much of Richie enveloping him all around. A lot of people were repulsed by that - he is so clingy and over-affectionate - but for Eddie, it was comforting. He would never admit it, of course. Eddie craved attention and Richie consistently showered him with it. That is why he was so fucking devastated when Richie told him he was going to leave. Eddie really didn’t mean to say those things to him, alas he could never stop his mouth when he gets emotional. He turns into Richie. It took a few days for him to cool down, but by that time it was already too late, and Richie was already gone.

 _I really wanted to call him,_ Eddie thinks. _I never got a chance to._

Eddie shuts his eyes and tries to summon one of the last good memories he had from that summer. He doesn’t know why he does this as it saddens him even more.

When Richie fished him out of his house on Sunday at an ungodly hour, he was very insistent on Eddie having a ride with him. He didn’t even tell where they were going, not that Eddie cared either way. Thinking of it now maybe Richie wanted to spend few extra moments with him before he departed.

⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋⇋

“What a night to be young, Spaghetti, let’s go!” Eddie scrunched his nose at the nickname but accepted Richie’s extended hand, jumping down from the tree.

“It’s not like we are going to go partying all night, get wasted and commit some misconduct.” He stopped halfway to the car and eyed Richie cautiously. “We are not, _right?_ It’s not your attempt at making your graduation rave dream come true?”

Richie snorted. “I am very concerned about your perception of the current youth, but no.” He plumped down on the leather seat and started the engine. “I chose the activity perfect for that faint heart of yours. I should take care of my Eddie K, after all.” Richie winked and flashed him one of his shit-eating grins.

Eddie felt his cheeks reddened slightly at the combination of words _my Eddie_. He huffed and turned to roll down the window.

“Besides,” Richie continued, though nobody asked him to. “What will I do if my love, Sonia, starts hating me because I haven’t brought her son back home safe and sound? I will be _heartbroken,_ Eds! My soul will not bear such calamity!” He declared animatedly, maybe a tiny bit too seriously at which Eddie fought a smile.

“She already despises you anyway, told me herself.”

 _Ouch,_ Richie mouthed, putting one of his hands on his heart, yet the next second his face lit brightly with a dazzling smile.

They spent some time driving in silence, with Richie's soft humming and the wind blowing as an ambience. When people meet Eddie and Richie, intaking their dynamic, they think that, if left alone, they would definitely tear each other to shreds. They would have been astonished to know that actually Eddie and Richie spend like one-thirds of their time in a lull. Not that they don’t like riling each other up. It's that sometimes they also like to stay quiet and just keep company to one another.

Richie finally stopped and parked on the side of the road under some trees. It was dark and eerie outside, along the highway with the forest even more obscured. Eddie warily stared into the blackness. _Why the fuck Richie wants to go in there?_

“Please don’t tell me that you have suddenly discovered an urge to kill and I am going to be your first victim.” He exited the car, voice laced with sarcasm but underneath, he was a bit uneasy. Though so many years had passed, Eddie still had nightmares from that summer and felt anxious from time to time.

“Wouldn’t I be honoured though, Eds? Such a trophy of a cute boy for the first kill, all the psychopaths in the area would be jealous!” Richie pried something from the backseat. Eddie found out it was a flashlight after he switched it on and pointed it straight in his face.

“ _Richie,_ ” Eddie narrowed his eyes and glared at him with some irritation. “What are we doing here?”

“Okay, okay.” Richie puffed a small laugh. “I just, um, I-I found this place… Like, I was walking one night and stumbled upon it. It’s kinda—I think you will—“ He rambled, suddenly looking skittish. After a pause, with Eddie patiently waiting, he just declared. “I want to show you.”

Eddie was dumbfounded. Why is Richie making such a big deal out of it? Not like he didn’t sometimes find cool places and showed them to Eddie. He was curious now, maybe even more than he was scared.

They trudged into the depths of the woods, and Eddie wondered why the fuck Richie was in here in the first place. Alone, so far away, _at night._ He figured he didn’t want to think about it right now.

“Hey, be careful. Keep your mind on the Earth, Eddie.” Richie caught his hand and Eddie inhaled sharply at the unexpected contact.

The clearing they exited into was much lighter than the environment before. It wasn’t particularly plain - there were few stumps here and there, and the grass was quite tall in some places. It was a nice place, but he didn’t get why Richie was so imperative on coming here. Eddie turned back and supplied Richie with a questioning look. The boy moved closer and placed a tentative hand on his chin. Eddie’s whole body tensed, and hundreds of thoughts rushed through his mind. _Is it?—Is he?—_ But then he tilted Eddie’s head, making him look up.

There were myriads of glimmering stars dispersed along the wide expanse of the indigo sky. Eddie had never seen them so clearly. They appeared so close as if he could reach and touch them. It felt so grand and so majestic that he noticed his eyes watering a bit. He speedily blinked the tears away. _Richie will think he is weird, to cry over something like that…_ Eddie stole a sheepish glance at the boy in question, who was now looking in a different direction, probably trying to find some weird constellation to jab about. He felt his body getting warm all over with fondness, especially his face received most of the heat.

 _Maybe I should tell him right now._ Eddie’s heart leapt at the thought. _If I don’t, I feel like I’m going to die._

“Rich—“

“Oh my God, Eddie look! Quick!” Richie excitedly gripped his arm and pointed at the left end of the sky where Eddie saw a tail of a shooting star. When it passed, Richie twisted his head towards Eddie and beamed at him. Eddie, in return, could only stare into azure eyes, shining even brighter under the glow of the stars.

“What did you wish for, Eds?”

_I wish I was brave enough to tell you._

“I’m not going to tell you, asshole. That’s the whole point of wishing upon a star, isn’t it?” Richie fake pouted, and Eddie gave him a sly smile. _He is such a coward._ “And maybe I should change it to the one where you would finally call me by my real name.”

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Stargazing. That’s what it was. Richie took him to stargaze.

Eddie sighs heavily. That is the only thing he gets to do now - commemorate and cherish all those memories. _That is the only thing he has left of Richie._ Eddie dozes off wrapped around Richie's hoodie and dreams about the past which he wishes he could get back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is weird to write their fluffy cute interactions as children when the whole chapter is Eddie going through an emotional crisis.


	3. Sonorous Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not dead! I was hit with work and try to continue writing during weekends. Don’t worry I will not abandon the fic, just might take a little while to finish the next chapter. 
> 
> Also, this one got out to be a little longer than others have a lot of events to check on my hit list. Lots and LOTS of dialogue, compared to other parts where they suffer in silence. Included more Losers too, I like making them interact, not only focusing on Richie’s and Eddie’s microcosm.

⦾⦾⦾

“Barrens?” Bill asks surprised, and Eddie nods, staring at him intensely. “Eddie, I’m not sure about that. It's not a good idea to—”

“You remember when all the children’s bodies had washed up in there after the first time. Maybe—Maybe Richie’s body has too…“

Eddie woke up in Richie’s bed this morning, and the only thing he was capable of doing was to apathetically look at the ceiling cracks above him. He could cry again, but he was kind of tired of it. After an hour and a half of mindless existence, he was suddenly punched with a vision of the printed headlines. They were bold and clear and spoke about the mingled and tormented bodies found floating down the waters of the sewer opening. The newspaper even had the audacity to put fucking pictures of the gruesome scene. It is fair to say that the Losers never returned to hang out near the stock afterwards.

“Eddie…” Bill exchanges a look with Mike, trying to gain some support in his hesitation.

“Please, Billy. I know it’s…” Eddie looks down, wriggling his fingers in Richie’s hoodie which he, after some consideration, decided to kind of steal. And wear. Who the fuck cares anyway? The Losers definitely didn’t, only regarding him with soft understanding glances. He gulps and connects his gaze with Bill’s again. He hopes determination in his eyes is enough to persuade. “I don’t want him staying down there. He hated this town he hated to be buried in this filthy sewer, under this fucking house. He hated to be forgotten just like that.”

Everyone turns to Bill expectedly, waiting for his decision. They are all grown-up 40-year-olds and shouldn’t really rely on his approval, but he is their leader nevertheless. Eddie would venture there himself if he could only he is afraid he will not be able to bear what he will or will not find. Not alone at least, so he waits. Bill sighs.

“Okay,” Eddie’s tensed shoulders relax. “Okay, Eddie. We will go look there, but I can't vouch that we will find him—His body.” He corrects and licks his lips. “And if we will, _Eddie…_ ” Eddie doesn’t want to hear the end of this sentence, so he interjects.

“I know.” He says, maybe a bit too bitterly, and Bill frowns. “It’s fine.” _It’s not fine._ “I’m going to be fine.” _He is not going to be fine either way, and they all know this._ There is not much they can do about it though. They can’t convince him to leave Richie again. What they _can_ do is help him keep his sanity intact, satisfying his last attempt at redemption.

They take some time to prepare, going into their rooms, while Eddie drops on the sofa. He closes his eyes and leans on the uncomfortable furniture, gently bumping his head on the wall. It’s throbbing a lot since morning, or noon, he doesn’t actually know what time it is. Eddie wasn’t completely wrong about his muscles giving out before. It feels like he had completed the triathlon and did year worth of paperwork, all in one day. He took some Tylenol pills, but they didn’t do jack shit. Eddie feels the neighbouring cushion caving in and opens his eyes. Naturally, it’s Bill. The man doesn’t say anything, however, and just opts for physical comfort, bumping their shoulders together. Because Eddie’s head is splitting in two and he wants some distraction - _and because he really likes to suffer_ \- he breaks the silence.

“Richie told me he loved me.” Eddie is staring unfocused somewhere past Bill’s leg but notices him turning his head. “Did you know?” He looks up wearily and catches Bill fixing eyes on him. His face is wistful and worn off - he looks old. They are all old, but he means _old_. And tired. _Right._ Somewhere between the mourning for his dead love, Eddie forgot - he is not the only one who lost two of his closest friends.

“I guessed, everybody assumed… but I think Stan knew.” Bill’s voice trembles slightly at Stan’s name. _Of course, he knew._ Eddie purses his lips in a stiff smile but then drops it to wipe at his eyes. If he thinks of Stan too, he will definitely break.

There is a faint creak, and he looks up at Ben and Beverly descending the stairs. They walk fairly closer than they had been days prior, with Bev’s arm circled around Ben’s. They are chatting quietly and, all things aside, seem joyous. If Richie could see them now, he would probably fake gag at the sweetness or groan _“Finally, took you long enough!”_ , hugging them. Perhaps both.

“I am happy for them.” Eddie supplies to somehow change the subject he himself has started. And he really is happy, but somehow it hits differently seeing as he can’t stop imagining it being him and Richie. Richie holding his hand, tenderly smiling at him. And Bill knows. Eddie doesn’t even have to look at him to see that he knows. He feels being tugged and a second later, he has Bill’s firm arm around his shoulders. He bows his head.

“It hurts you know. I just… Why couldn’t I—Why didn’t I—“ Eddie studies his hands clench and unclench, not quite sure what he wants to say and if he wants to start this conversation.

“Eddie, it’s okay. We all went through some shit.”Bill’s grip on Eddie’s shoulder tightens. “Still going. I know you blame yourself for his death but—“

“It’s not **that** Bill!” He declares harshly, straightening up, catching the attention of the pair. They look worried, and Eddie equally hates and appreciates it. “It’s not about me being, whatever this shit is… the survival guilt thing.” He continues, huffing an annoyed breath as Mike comes from nearing room, probably to see what Eddie is fussing about. “I blame it on the fucking clown who literally skewed Richie. It’s me being fucking furious at myself that I didn’t do anything back then. And now. You said - all of us knew, even me, and yet I didn’t—“ Eddie feels his head go a little bit dizzy with emotions. “He saved my life, and he said he loved me. He always did so much for me, for us. Cared so much… I didn’t give anything in return. I didn’t tell Richie how I felt right until the end when it was already too late.”

He looks ahead and sees Mike staring at him troubled. Somewhere between the wrinkles of his face, Eddie can recognise guilt.

_It’s not your fault he died, Mikey. Even if I partially want to blame you._

“You didn't hear what he said to me during his last breaths - _he fucking thanked me for existing._ Who the fuck says that?! You weren’t there, when he moved, you don’t know how I reacted. I screamed at him and bailed before he could say anything. I didn’t call, I didn’t try to make amends after he left. I just fucking cried and floundered in my self-pity, hoping things will get better by themselves. And it’s not even solely about Richie. My whole life - now that I’m remembering it all - fucking wasted. I lost so little time that we had. I could’ve been braver - that’s what I’m fucking blaming myself for.”

There is a small moment of tense hush before Beverly speaks.

“Why don’t you blame Richie for being a coward too then?” Eddie whirls his head fast to glare at her perplexed.

“What?”

“From what I can discern from his life, he is not much different than any of us. This shit fucked him up as prominently as it had us and… he didn’t try to do anything either.” She sways her head to the side, curls falling over her freckled cheeks. “Richie said he loved you only when he knew there would be no consequences to face.”

“It’s different…”

“Is it though? Eddie, dear, you were both in love, that’s irrefutable, except it was the 80s and it was Derry. You both were scared to lose each other if it turned out you misread. Besides, we don't know even if you **did** get together IT wouldn't fuck it up anyway. I—We got trapped in our past selves because we forgot and nothing can be changed about that. It’s not your fault - being scared is not a weakness. I—”

Tell that to the fucking clown. Ben did remember Bev and his love for her, Mike remembered too. _Maybe if he stayed with Richie long enough, they would have remembered as well._

She looks at hers and Ben’s interlinked hands. “Only now I am figuring out how to be stronger. I am starting to believe I can be strong. You should too.”

Eddie stays silent. He doesn’t agree with her, not an inch, but he sees no point in arguing right now. They have a thing to do. The remaining Losers all pile up in Ben’s car. There is so little of them now, they used to need a pair of vehicles to go somewhere. Surprising how much missing space can be left behind by two people.

They park near the bridge, what's it called again? This is the shortcut which will lead them to the Barrens. Ben flinches a bit while they, one by one, start going down the hill into the forest. Isn’t that where Bowers had fucking sliced Ben's stomach open? _Fucking Bowers. Good thing Richie has—Shit._ Just as Eddie puts his hand on the wood railing preparing to hop over, his eyes flicker down, and he pauses.

 _Right. The Kissing Bridge, that’s how it is called._ Realisation strikes Eddie when he traces the outline of the old sketchy carving, _“R+E”_. _E_ looks faded and incomplete, it always has. He wonders if Richie had written it. Eddie desired it to be this way when he first spotted the letters riding from the quarry on one of the hot summer days. And after that too, every other time he passed it on the way home. He can imagine Richie - being stupid sappy 13 years old that he was - carving their initials into the Kissing Bridge as a memorial of his love. Eddie can easily picture that considering he had done the same.

He crouches, sliding his hand a little further down and barely touches an _R_ enclosed in a ragged heart. It’s just as aged as the other engraving. He didn’t write his initial near it, thought it would give away too much. In the present, he bewails over his apprehension. Eddie was so scared he had forgotten how brave he could be.

He didn’t deny that he was gay or anything like that. His (and his dick’s) unstoppable longing for Richie made that pretty obvious. Eddie never let it linger too long though, never wanted to acknowledge or deal with the issue. It was easier that way, he thought. Well, that was a fucking delusion. It didn’t help a single bit.

“Um… Eddie,” Mike calls, warily. “Can you come to see?”

“Sorry, coming.” Eddie stands up and promises to himself that he will finish it in the meantime, he must.

Eddie cascades down the rocky cliff, stumbling to the riverside. His heart skips a beat as he catches the sight of piles of rotten wooden planks, window glass and other remains of the Neibolt house. They float in the pond, clog the water tube, some even rest on the grass. How did they get so far? It gives an impression as if the sewer had an aggressive attempt to get it all out, spewing the parts all around. Eddie feels his throat pulsate and surges into the water.

“I-I fucking told you it should have—Fuck!” He hisses at the freezing touch. The water is hardly knee-deep, but it still shoots sharp needles through his legs.

“Eddie, wait!” Bill and Mike submerge into the basin near him, while Ben and Bev disperse on the land.

Eddie wildly spins his head around, inspecting the scattered debris. He shuffles towards the direction of the tube. He doesn’t know what he is expecting to see, but panic starts crawling up his back nonetheless. Something tugs at his legs and he glances at it. His fingers twitch as all the thoughts he had screech to a halt, and he stares at the object. It’s his jacket. It’s soaked up in blood and mud, but it’s undeniable his.

“ _G-guys,_ ” Bill yells shakily, capturing the group’s attention. Eddie looks at him, brows knitted and then his gaze lands on the object trapped under the broken window frame, at the bottom of the drain Bill is standing.

Not an object. A person, a body. Richie’s body. _Richie._ He is lying sideways, face resting on the timber board covered in dirty leftover wallpaper. Eddie forgets he is capable of breathing and his eyes start to sting with how wide he has them open. He falteringly approaches Bill not taking his gaze off the frame of Richie’s face. There is dried blood all over his mouth and chin; his eyes are shut, and his skin is pale, littering with small cuts and bruises (same as other Loser’s). Eddie was right - he is not fucking ready to see Richie like this again. He screws his eyes shut, nails digging half-moons into his palms.

“ _Eddie…_ ” Mike’s gentle voice and the sensation of his hand on his biceps bestirs Eddie, and he intakes a deep unsteady breath, opening his eyes again.

He reaches out, touching Richie’s cheek, carefully turning his head to face him fully. He feels a featherlight whiff of warm air brush his wrist, and freezes.

_Wait._

**_What._ **

Eddie slowly slides his hand under Richie’s nose, hovering just above the mouth. _Richie is breathing._ ** _Breathing._** It’s barely noticeable but definitely existent. If Richie is breathing then—

“ _Ohmyfuckinggod._ ” Eddie scurries closer, putting one hand on Richie’s neck, with the other gently removing mucky curls off his face. His eyes roam over Richie’s features for any other signs of life. Eddie’s breathing heavies, fingers digging into the cold skin, but not the cold corpse frost he felt before. “Guys! He is-He is fucking breathing! Richie’s alive he is _alive!_ ” All the Losers watch him concerned until Eddie jerks Mike’s hand to settle it where his palm had just been. The crease between Mike’s eyebrows shifts over to his forehead as he turns back to others astonished.

They stare back in shock, and Eddie is getting restless. He huffs, turning back and tries to lift the window frame. He tenderly loops an arm around Richie’s back, pulling him outward. It is unsuccessful until Ben finally springs to action leaping into the water. Bill joins and with both their help Eddie hauls Richie out from under the debris and onto the shore. His body is pliant and lets itself be freed easily, which is unexpected but gratifying. They all hastily scramble out of the puddle and lay the man on the grass. Eddie sits and cradles Richie’s head on his knees, letting out a stuttering breath.

“Wha—? But h-how?” Bill utters, while Eddie is preoccupied with Richie’s state, hands patting desperately at his face and shoulders. He looks forward and bores his eyes into the place where the wide hole should be. Eddie laboriously skids his hand down Richie’s torso, moving the ripped edges of the shirt apart to expose the patch of skin. Something shimmers underneath, it’s gold. The wound, it’s sealed with gold. He gapes astounded not hearing what others have to say until—

“ ** _…What?_** ” Eddie questions, thinking he misheard.

“We can’t get him to the hospital. I—how we will explain any of this? His wound, his state…” Ben mutters, and Eddie stares at him bewildered.

“What the fuck, Ben?” Eddie snarls, glaring daggers.

“I mean—“

“I know what the fuck you mean and I don’t give a single fuck!” Ben looks guilty and averts his eyes. Eddie doesn’t care though since now he is on an anger rush once again, too many emotions bubbling over. “What do you want us to do, huh?! Leave him here? Like we left him down the sewers and figures he was actually alive. He is still hurt, we don’t know how or why or what is wrong with him, even though he’s alive! What if I didn’t suggest to go here to check, would he just freeze to death or fade away from the wound with nobody to find him? Maybe he-he was awake and watched us all leave him… Are we gonna just leave him again, like we always do, _like I always—_ “

“Eddie.” It’s Bev again. _Why is it always her to bring him back when Richie is not around?_ Eddie turns to her, and she wipes away the tears he didn’t know were furiously spilling down his cheeks. “We are not leaving him. We will bring him to the hospital, okay? It’s okay, Eddie.” Eddie nods, and she smiles with her lips pursed.

They do get him safely to the hospital, except Eddie loses it a little when the doctors try to cart Richie away, not wanting to let him go. The Losers have to forcefully loosen his death grip on Richie’s arm. He is a bit embarrassed at his outburst now that he had calmed down and sitting in a waiting hall. A cup of bitter coffee remains untouched in his hand after one sip. Bill rests on a neighbouring chair with his hand lying on Eddie’s thigh to provide some support. Others alter between leaning on a wall or having a seat. They haven’t talked, and Eddie doesn’t bother to start a conversation because all his thoughts are focused on Richie.

Someone knocks, and they all perk up. It’s Doctor Hase, the one who told them she is going to be taking care of Richie. Eddie raises abruptly.

“How is he doing?” Eddie opens his mouth to ask, but Bill beats him to it.

“Before I disclose any further information, I must ask what happened to him.” She eyes them suspiciously. All the Losers tense up, and Ben gives Eddie a side glance, which the other decides to ignore. “The wound along his torso—”

Before she can finish her question, Bill extends a hand holding two 100$ bills. Everyone’s eyebrows fly upwards, and the woman blinks.

“I believe you were going to answer my question about the state of our friend, right Doctor?” He challenges, not moving his gaze away from the woman. Doctor Hase glances between the money and Bill few times and on another inhale takes it promptly.

“His vitals are stable, he has a concussion, though no serious brain damage or brain haemorrhage. He has mild hypothermia too, not anything lethal.”

Eddie releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. _Richie is_ ** _fine_** _. No other injuries, except concussion and a little cold, he can deal with that._

“But.” Doctor Hase pauses to gather their attention again. “The patient is reacting to all stimulus we have provided. In a sense, his body is functioning, but we don’t know…” She hesitates and peers at Eddie, which he loathes. He was always irritated at how doctors spoke riddles. He is going to find out anyway - what is the point of this waiting game? “Mr Tozier may be in a coma, and we don’t know for how long since we can’t identify the major injury which is influencing him to remain in such state.”

On other thought, scratch that. He can’t fucking deal with it. He feels like all his organs had dropped to the bottom of his stomach. The bile acid scorches his throat at the origin of his tongue. His vision becomes unfocused, and he wonders if anything is even worth hoping for.

“Can we see him at least?” Eddie gasps and blinks the melancholy away as Mike puts a hand on his shoulder. Woman throws a glance at Bill. He sighs, taking his wallet and giving her another paper slip.

“Follow me.” She turns to lead them to Richie’s room.

“I’m sorry Eddie, it was a shitty thing to say.” Ben strides closer, seeming troubled.

“Yeah, it was.” Eddie denounces, looking forward. There is an uneasy silence between them, and after a few steps, he tuts, shaking his head. “Fuck. Listen, I know you didn’t—I’m just… I am fucking exhausted. I thought I lost him - I literally saw him die - and now he is…” Ben knowingly hums so Eddie doesn’t continue.

The door squeaks, when they enter, and Eddie's gaze instantly settles on Richie. He looks cleaner with few wounds bandaged and his skin appears to have gained some color. But he is not awake. Not for another hour, not for another day. Eddie stalls, even though other Losers come and go. He is afraid if he leaves, Richie will disappear, and Eddie will wake up in a cold bed of the Inn. Alone. Again.

Eddie stirs and shakes his sleep away, stretching from an uncomfortable position he has been in for a couple of hours. Nothing has changed about Richie’s condition in these few moments of his oblivion. Eddie’s only salvation in this gloomy morning is to hold the man’s hand. It somewhat grounds him and lets his mind wander about the future he hopes will be soon to come. _When Richie wakes up, Eddie has to tell him._ Yes, let him be optimistic - Richie must wake up. It would be a fucking cruel joke on universe’s side to bring Richie back only for Eddie to lose him again. He thinks he will not be able to bear that.

The chair squeals as Eddie pushes it closer to the bed and begins to sluggishly stroke each of Richie’s fingers. He used to do that a lot when they were kids, it worked akin remedy against his anxiety, unlike the pills which were never true. He was fidgety, so he couldn’t just hold Richie’s hand and needed some distraction.

What doesn’t bring relief for his anxiety is the voice that pierces through the halls, causing his muscles to contract. Before he can even turn his head fully, the body stumbles into the room. It takes him a couple of seconds to actually recognise his wife. Within these days he forgot he had one. She looks exasperated, with cheeks burning crimson. He stays mute and just blinks because he genuinely doesn’t know what to say. She has a mind of her own though and speaks.

“ ** _Edward Kaspbrak,_ where have you been?!** You left me all alone with no explanation. You come home, tell me you crashed the car and then rush out looking like you have seen a ghost. And then I find out you here, in God knows where Derry! What are you doing? Who are all those people? Who is _this_?” Myra gestures towards the bed appalled and, when he automatically glances in Richie's direction, spots a compress on his face. “What happened to your cheek?!” She gasps and grabs it brutally. He winces and slaps her hand away, miffed.

“How did you know where I was?” Eddie asks instead of answering any of her questions. It’s always like this in their conversation.

“It doesn’t matter.” He narrows his eyes, and she huffs. “So what if I installed an app on your phone to know your location? It’s not like this was futile - this is exactly the situation why I did it!”

“What the fuck, Myra? Why you would do that in the first place?!” Eddie glowers at her wide-eyed.

“Because I care for you and want to know you are safe, protected with me! Come home, dear.” He flinches, words striking agonisingly hard. She quickly shifts her tactics seeing Eddie more aggravated with the current situation rather than cooperative. “I will help you - tell me what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. Fuck, I—” He is becoming distressed from fatigue and discontent. Gladly, Beverly comes in, a startled look on her face when she sees the other woman.

“Is she the reason? Eddie are you—“ Eddie doesn’t want to hear it, so he gets up and shoves Myra out from the room, slamming the door. Beverly blinks at him, two coffee mugs steaming in her unmoving hands.

“Shut up I don’t know…” Eddie trails off, biting his lip, almost seeing his eyebrows with how hard they are creased. He breathes in and closes his eyes.

Eddie’s life isn’t exactly disastrous, he concludes. He has a profitable job, a steady income with other domestic assets, and a wife - by all standards, he is an accomplished middle-aged man. However he doesn’t fancy his job, it is boring as hell and exhausting; he doesn’t have time for things he would rather prefer to be doing and, above all, he is extremely gay and never truly enjoyed the time with his wife. He could blame Myra for his misery, but he knows it isn’t her fault. He encouraged it. It felt safer that way, familiar he might say. Yeah, he married his ma, laugh at him. _God, he wishes Richie would laugh at him right now._

His wife is not a bad person, unlike his mother who, he thinks, was completely irredeemable. Myra is just not the right one - they were misplaced. Specifically, Eddie since he always belonged with Richie. He hopes she can understand him, at least in some way. Eddie thought he desired such existence where everything goes as planned. He was okay with that. Until he wasn’t because Richie stormed into his life again, showing him how bland and colorless it is without the little star radiating near. Richie is unpredictable, chaotic, energising and _isn’t that fucking exciting?_ Eddie could see and feel so much more with him that he never could with anybody else.

Another habit Eddie has connected to his anxiety is the spinning of his wedding ring. An unconscious behaviour he adopted when he was uncertain about his actions. He guesses it’s kinda symbolic as his marriage is the embodiment of his ambivalence. Maybe it was an adrenaline rush but all the resolve Eddie once had is dimmed again. He scolds himself - he can’t afford to be a coward again.

Eddie's eyes dart from the ring to Richie’s face. In this exact moment there and then he decides that he can be brave for Richie. He leaves a lightweight kiss to Richie’s lips, a small touch which brings him strength. Beverly shoots him an encouraging smile.

“I will watch him for you.” Eddie nods and leaves to the corridor where Myra is pacing.

“Myra—“ It’s the only thing that gets out of his mouth before he is overcome with her stepping into his space.

“Eddie, dear, _please!_ I-I—we will fix everything! Just tell me what is wrong… We will change it!”

“Us. I want—“ Eddie starts unsurely and then mentally kicks himself. He is still frightened but is 99,9% sure it is going to be a safe land when Richie wakes up. He just needs to take this one step forward for him. “I want a divorce.”

She gapes at him as if he had spoken another language. When she searches his face and sees no indication of a joke or a doubt, her mouth twists.

“How can you say so Eddie, I did so much for you. I fly all the way here to check, and you push me away. Why do you do this to me, Eddie, dear? **I love you!** Through all this time I tried to save our marriage - this is how you repay me?” Myra grasps his cheeks, tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. She stares intently at him, and Eddie holds her gaze. “Are you going to leave me? Come home, back to me. I am going to help you, honey. I know you love me and don’t want any of this. Something has happened, and you are not telling me—”

“I’m gay.” This gets her to slam her mouth shut, and she frowns at him baffled. “I’m sorry. But you kind of knew that already, didn’t you?”

“It’s not right. You are not— _You’re confused..._ ” She shakes her head.

“No. I am finally awake.”

“Eddie—”

“Please, Myra. I don’t want to hurt you - you are not a bad person. I—it’s not what I want for you or me. We are not happy. Haven’t been for many years, maybe never.” Eddie sighs and zeroes in on fractures in concrete wall behind her. ”I thought it was fine, but it’s not. Do you know what I mean? You see it too?” Myra is silent, and Eddie regards it as a yes. “It’s over.”

“Eddie.” Bev summons, opening the door and Eddie sees Myra looking vexed at his shoulder.

“Bye.” He says and retreats into the room.

Eddie is brimming with relief, feeling lightheaded with this small triumph. He is smiling to himself when he enters the room, feeling like he can knock the world flat. _Now he is prepared for anything!_

What Eddie is not prepared for is to meet blue eyes, squinting at him from under the dark eyelashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people portray Myra as a complete mirror image of Sonia, I like reading it too, but sometimes I like to imagine she is more rational and can actually see they are not okay together, accepting their separation. 
> 
> Coming back to Richie in the next chapter, with a special guest!
> 
> P.S. Bill is a rich bitch who helps his friends with a power of bribery.


	4. Vitreous Twilight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During writing the last chapter, I kinda found out it was turning out **really** long. Like, this was supposed to be the half of it, so I decided to separate it in two. I want the reunion to be heart-whelming, sooooo I left more words for that.
> 
> TW Mentions of suicide/suicide attempt. (Sorry)

⦿⦿⦿

Richie opens his eyes - everything is gray. He inhales, and it’s pleasantly easy. He blinks for his eyes to adjust and sits up. Endless void of mist welcomes him, and Richie wonders where the hell his drinking haze had gotten him again. But wait a minute, he doesn’t feel hangover, and he hasn’t gotten shitfaced since the tour celebration party. It was a while ago, what was after?

Someone called? _Mike did._ **_Derry._** Oh fuck, that’s right - his friends, _his past_. What does he remember last? They fought the clown. Then… **Eddie.** _Eddie died._ And then he didn’t because Richie saved him.

_Oh yeah, Richie is the one who died._

He looks down, and there it is - the blood and mangled skin. His hand probes at the wound and it doesn’t hurt at all. _Well, thank you for that at least, Purgatory._ He thinks it is Purgatory because what else can it be? Hell would have been brisker in his opinion. Or it is another stupid trick from Pennywise, though he hopes the fucker is dead. From what Richie had grasped in his incessant repeats, the Losers _do_ come out victorious as long as they believe IT is nothing. So he guesses the others did survive. _Eddie_ ** _must_** _have survived._

The last thing Richie remembers is Eddie’s terrified face when he pleaded him to stay. And he really wishes he could, but there was only one possible resolution. It couldn’t have ended happily with both of them alive. It is Bill’s work to write better endings - Richie simply does not have any in his show, he just sorts of finishes. It never occurred to him he needs some type of closure. Maybe it’s a good thing, or maybe he was always subconsciously scared of the “ _afterwards_ ”.

Thinking about it now, Richie was afraid of what the future may entail after the fight was won. The lack of it to be exact. He felt so alive, he hasn’t felt like that in _years_. Even in the world where Eddie would have beat it to the ending credits, they all have their separate lives to return to. _Eddie has a life to return to. A fucking wife._ Richie doesn’t want to - there was no future awaiting him back home anyway. He keeps losing his friends, and he can’t have that again. Perhaps it’s too dramatic to put on the same line with death, but with how bland his existence has been to this point he sees it justified. He is too much of a coward to accept what has to come eventually, so it is better if he takes himself off the board before it can happen.

Richie prays, though that the Losers will not forget again and remain together despite him not being around. It was for the best - that’s what he had told Eddie, and it is true. The story finale was a fit for how he lived. He existed to bring delighted smiles to people’s faces - _Eddie’s smile, fucking breathtaking_ \- it estimated his worth. Yeah, yeah it is faulty thinking to measure your significance at the expense of others’ opinions. He has— _He had_ a therapist, he knows. Throughout his life, he had made a mistake of wishing things could be better for him, deeming that he deserved to be happy as well. _Guess it was awfully egoistic to assume._

After smearing blood from his fingers onto his pants, he rises. Richie doesn’t have anything better to do so he saunters forward. What he thinks is forward considering everything is foggy as hell. There is a faint soft spot of yellow amidst the silver emptiness, and he follows it. He squints, seeing more blobs as he approaches. Richie’s glasses are absent, and he can only learn what it is when he is directly in front of it.

A fucking— _a sunflower?_ A number of them apparently, a field.

Richie gently rubs a petal between his thumb and forefinger. It’s wet and smooth like all nature is during twilight, brief moments before every little thing is awakened by the sun. That time where nature is stagnant is one of Richie’s favourite, has always been. It felt placid, soothing - he could sit hours upon hours in a fresh stillness where seconds turned into minutes, hours flashed in a second. This moment didn’t belong to a night or a day but rather was the amalgam of both. In this frozen juncture, he was free, not responsible for anything he does, thinks or feels. Similarly to how he is right now. _Oh, hang on a second._ There was another reason for his admiration of that natural phenomenon, still raw in his memory from the Deadlights exposure.

Eddie loved stars, Richie loved sunrise - the twilight was a narrow bridge between them. Inside, in his core, Richie viewed this moment as the connection he had so longed. It was stupid, but he let himself enjoy the small guilty pleasure of reverie. Especially when he was with Eddie in this time of a day, waiting for either moon or sun to illuminate the pretty boy’s serene face. He supposes Eddie was more preoccupied with the natural beauty splayed before him to notice Richie staring. Or he did notice and decided to not say anything, maybe to not embarrass Richie. In that case, he is thankful for Eddie’s tolerance towards the petty excuse of a human he himself is.

This is familiar, like the summers with Eddie, except something far more bygone. The smell, the touch, the setting - Richie can’t quite catch a clear picture, but he thinks he understands. His chest heavies and he looks ahead attempting to see past the cloudy gradient of pearly-canary. Richie vigorously steps into the field, the deeper he goes, the stronger that strange sensation of anticipation throbs in his chest. He speeds up, firstly skipping few steps and then full-on dashing onward. Plants paint his clothes wet, but he doesn’t care. _Why does he do this? What is he expecting?_ ** _Who_** _is he expecting?_

Richie stops in his tracks doubling over to catch a breath. He hears an inhale, and his throat tightens when he raises his head. There is a man, no older than Richie. He is tall, beyond handsome and well postured. Howbeit, Eddie will always hold the first place in Richie’s heart. He has never seen him, and yet it is as if he had known him his whole life. _Maybe because he had._

“ _…Stan?_ ” Richie exhales, and it seems like the man is almost amused by the sound.

“Took you long enough, Tozier. Did your sense of direction got even worse since I last saw you?” Stan sighs displeased as if this is a regular conversation. As if they are not in a predicament where both of them are kinda dead because of the alien clown who had haunted them throughout their childhood, and further, adulthood.

“Yeah, you know I get a little bit lost sometimes.” Richie attempts to chuckle, but it comes out a bit high and jittery. He still doesn’t make an attempt to go forward, afraid if he makes any movement, the vision will quiver and disappear. And he will be left alone, again.

“Well, you found me.” This situation is so normal and so right, and Richie has missed it so much in the years of forced oblivion that he practically bolts forward, squeezing Stan in a robust hug.

“ _I did?…_ ” He chokes out, not holding back the tears which track down his cheeks. Warmth and relief spread through his ribs from the pressed body. _A real body, not an act of Richie’s hallucination._

“You always do,” Stan says, too softly for himself and puts his arms around Richie, returning the gesture.

Richie purses his lips and closes his eyes, allowing the sobs to overtake him, while the other man keeps close. When his breathing has relatively evened out, he opens his eyes again. He doesn’t remove himself from Stan’s embrace rather places his head on the man’s shoulder. Which is quite fun considering Stan is taller than Eddie - _of course_ \- yet still does not reach Richie’s height levels. He bets they look somewhat ridiculous if someone could see them.

“You’ve been waiting here?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Richie exhales, feeling the rough fabric of Stan’s jacket underneath his palms. “It’s been lonely, I bet.”

“I’ve been enjoying nice tranquillity before I was dropped here, and now I am stuck with you out of all people.” Stan declares very nonchalantly and Richie lifts his head to look at him. He takes a notice of the faint yet visible dots which are hidden by the bronze curls and neat stubble.

“I’m—I’m so fucking _sorry_ , Stan.” Concern and guilt lace his voice, and Stan lowers his hands. Richie’s gaze follows the movement, and now he can see the bloodied lines across the slender wrists. He winces as dull pain shoots through his chest. The place where his chest supposed to be normally if not for a large open wound.

“Don’t apologise for your existence Richie I have already accepted to bear that burden a long time ago.” Richie emits a short airily giggle, observing long fingers curl into a half-formed fists. Stan watches him and then lets out a long, exhausted exhale. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Richie. It’s not your fault. I have enough of you as you are, don’t bring your sorry ass here too.”

“Who else do I have to take care of my ass, Stanny? It’s so delicate, you know? And you do it so well.” Stan’s face stays unmoving, and Richie titters lightly. “Anyway~ Enough of our reunion interlude - what is _here_ exactly?”

“Where do you think you will be after you get impaled by a colossal claw and bleed to death?” Stan quirks an eyebrow, and maybe it’s his imagination, but his steady voice breaks a bit though he tries very hard to hide it. Richie is taken aback and gapes at him for a second too long.

“I—Yo-you saw?…” He stutters out.

“You know you are a fucking idiot. You were supposed to stay alive, Richard. We made a _promise_.” Richie’s heart pings with turmoil. _Stan has no right to say that when he is the one who—_

“Y-you’re the one to talk about breaking promises, Stanley.” Richie retorts maybe too harshly, and Stan closes his eyes, shaking his head troubled. “At least you could’ve kept one promise and just be a sensible person who didn’t come. You weren’t supposed to…”

“You know it wasn’t that, Richie. I didn’t try to kill myself after we made a promise, not in years. It was… under different circumstances. Genuinely? I was pretty much happy, until that phone call at least.” Well, points to Stan, he did find power in himself to stay strong. Unlike Richie. _If Richie tried in the past and didn’t prevail, it still counts as not breaking the promise, right? He couldn’t even do such a simple thing as suicide._ Or is he just looking for excuses? Does his sacrifice for Eddie count as an attempt? Stan probably knows that at some level it does.

After composing himself, Richie continues. “You know… I will always choose him above all else, it couldn’t have been otherwise. I wanted to do something noteworthy for him, this one time… Even-even if it is naive or selfish to think I hope he appreciates me a little bit more after it. That he sees how much I really care for him. That he loves—Not as much as I do of course—But at least a little bit more…” He stared down at his feet during his word vomit and now, when he looks up again, Stan is fixing him with a look. The man opens his mouth to say something, but Richie cuts him off.

“But enough of that too!” Richie says too loudly as he decides it is enough of sincerity for now. _Deflect!_ He needs to change the subject to more substantial matters. _Richie can only have so much of his heart worn on his sleeve._ “What I meant to ask before is more of _where_ in the afterlife are we? Like, is it some sorts of Limbo or some shit - are we really really dead? Because I had this Groundhog Day experience which I truly wish is over, and please don’t ask me about it, thank you.”

Stan scans his face for a moment but accepting it as futile doesn’t press on the exposed wires. He knows he can’t force Richie to have an emotional conversation when the other clearly doesn’t want to. He can try to reassure him that Eddie does indeed love him and cares for him _so so much_ and yada yada yada. But Stan knows he can’t persuade Richie. They had done that cycle multiple times in the past - it either doesn’t work or ends with Richie getting his hopes up and doing something stupid.

“I don’t know, I’ve just been waiting here.” He sighs, and suddenly there is a break in the clouds. The smog languidly dissipates, revealing the blinding sun which ignites the field with strikes of gold and crimson. “Huh, this is new.”

They both stand there as the view becomes sharper with every new beam reflecting thousands of sparks from the dew drops. The field is literally glowing.

“Do you think this is our cue to leave? I just came here, and this place is already kicking me out.” He smiles weakly turning to Stan, who narrows his eyes at him. Richie’s brows knit together as he glances down at the man’s hand. “Then... it’s really the end, huh?”

Richie knew this would be the outcome, but he still can’t stop the heartache and dissatisfaction stinging his insides. Why does he always do this - why does he always wishes for the best only to have his hopes crushed? Especially… what else was he expecting? It was obviously the end at the moment he got struck clean through his torso.

“UNLESS YOU WANT IT TO BE.” The voice pierces through the lightened sky, and both men flinch.

They can’t see it properly - the vision too obscure and ever-changing to comprehend. It’s everywhere, and then it's nowhere at the same time. Maybe it has always been here, with them, they just haven’t registered its existence. It is too familiar of a kind to point out right away, alike hair brushing against the back of the head or fingers twitching in a certain motion. Perhaps noting their confusion, the creature decides to display itself in one constant state. And…

 _It’s a Giant. Fucking._ ** _Turtle._** Its body covers the expanse of the upper atmosphere, bringing the whole universe together with it. Above, below and in the middle.

“What the fuck…” Richie whispers, his body in a stupor with flight or fight response. Which, in truth, is stupid considering he is already fucking dead. What else can happen to him? Can there be a double kill? _Fucking Street Fighter. Fuck, it’s not the time to remember that again, spare him some last remaining nerves._

“Are you—Who- **What** are you?” Stan tries, struggling for words in his stupefied state.

“Are you a God?” Richie manages to squeak and shivers when giant plates of murky eyes drift in his direction.

“SOMEWHAT. YOU CAN CONSIDER ME AS SOMETHING LIKE THAT CONCEPTION OF A GREATER BEING HUMANS HAVE.” The giant’s voice is so loud without it even opening its mouth, and Richie feels the words echoing in his head, ears, mouth - body vibrating with the intensity.

“Um, Mr God?”

“CALL ME MATURIN, RICHARD TOZIER.”

“Oh cool, he knows my name…” Richie mutters.

“Why are you here, why are we here? Why have I been here for so long? Why did you decide to appear now?” Stan chimes in with an intense need in his voice, stepping forward. Seems that in reality, Stan wasn’t so indifferent by residing in this space, without a soul or an answer.

“YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING UNTIL THE END OF THE STORY, STANLEY. NOW WHEN IT IS OVER, I HAVE COME TO GREET YOU. I HAD BEEN IN A SLUMBER FOR QUITE SOME TIME, BUT YOU - ALL OF YOU - HAD HELPED ME TO FINALLY WAKE UP.” Richie and Stan share a glance. “YOU DEFEATED THE CREATURE WHO ONCE TRAPPED ME WITH HIS DECEPTION AND TRICKS FOR THOUSANDS OF EONS.”

“P-Pennywise?”

“THAT IS WHAT HE CALLED HIMSELF. YES.”

“So he is dead? Like, _dead_ dead?” Richie knows it, he feels it, but some part of his soul stills need that final confirmation that the hell is over once and for all. Turtle nods, as much as its size allows it to. Richie exhales and then quickly asks. “Are the others—Did-did they get out? Are they alive?” _Is Eddie alive?_ \- He wants to add, however it seems Maturin knows exactly what he has to say anyway.

“YES.”

Richie looks at the ground with relief washing over him. He glimmers at Stan then, one end of his lips curling upwards.

_We did it._

“Are you here to take us to the other side then?” Stan inquires, and the Turtle just stares at them. It doesn’t make it less unsettling that it doesn’t blink at all.

“I HAVE HEARD YOUR PLEA, RICHARD.” Maturin then says, and Richie’s face twists in confusion. “I HAVE USED MY POWERS TO FREE YOU FROM THE REPEATING TRAP PENNYWISE HAS SET, WHILE TRYING TO PROLONG HIS EXISTENCE IN THE FEAR OF UPCOMING DEFEAT. I WAS ABLE TO FEED OFF OF YOUR DETERMINATION TO GUIDE ALL OF YOU, CHAMPIONS, TO THE BEST OUTCOME. UNFORTUNATELY, WHAT HAD TO HAPPEN NEEDED TO HAPPEN FOR YOU TO SUCCEED. ALL I COULD DO WAS SATISFY YOUR LAST REQUEST OF WISHING TO SWITCH PLACES WITH YOUR DYING FRIEND.”

“Oh. How considerate.” Richie mumbles, and he gets it now - a fair exchange. It’s never been him _and_ Eddie. It’s either him _or_ Eddie. Right. They are two separate people regardless of how much he yearned the invisible thread connecting them to be something palpable. It never was. Yet he still felt like something had been cut off, a sensation of a fantom limb creeping over him.

“YOU HAVE MADE A SELFLESS SACRIFICE - WILLING TO TRADE YOUR LIFE WITH A PERSON YOU BARELY KNOW ANYMORE. YOUR FEELINGS HAVE STAYED STRONG, AND THAT’S ADMIRABLE.” Not that Richie’s life was something he considered worthy. _Compared to Eddie’s it is fucking weightless._ Primarily as it was meaningless without Eddie in it. “I AM HERE TO GRANT YOU YOUR PRIZE, NOW THAT I AM FULLY BACK INTO MY POWER.”

“Is it like… some Greek myths where Gods do that thing - “ _Oh, you went through such hardships here is your prize, Champion!_ ” - and then it turns out to be a trick or another test. That one - with a dude going in the Underworld for his wife, sad ending as always.”

“It’s “ _Orpheus and Eurydice_ ”, Richie, and it is about temptations, and certain rules things should abide by,” Stan notes - _like the smartass he is_ \- and Richie's lip twitches slightly at the phrase. _He fucking hates it now, thanks, Mike._

“YES.”

“Well, can’t argue with the intricacies of literature with a God.” Richie shuffles his feet as he used to when teachers scolded him for things he didn’t care to understand.

“NO. _“YOU CAN GO IF YOU WANT”_ IS WHAT I’M SAYING - THAT **IS** THE PRIZE.”

“Go like… further or stay here? Why would we want to stay in this sort of waiting room?”

“GO BACK INTO THE LIVING WORLD, RICHARD.” Go back. _They can go back._ To living again. Richie stands speechless while his chest fills with something ready to burst at any second. _Don’t think of Alien. Don’t think of Alien._ “I’M JUST GIVING YOU AN OPPORTUNITY, YOU DON’T HAVE TO ACCEPT IT.”

“Wh-why wouldn’t we want to accept it?” Richie asks bewildered, and the Turtle stays silent once again. He then turns to Stan, and something unusual in his features throws Richie off. The man looks almost disheartened. “Stan?…”

“It was supposed to happen, you heard it. It is better to stay that way. I’m—I can’t Richie. Something had to go for you to succeed.”

“What are you saying…” Richie is lost and battered. “Yeah, it did happen, and now you can have your life back!”

Stan closes his eyes, and Richie grapples his hand, coincidentally the one with a faded scar, ragged tissue brushing together. “Losers stick together. Like fucking glue, Stanley. And if you deciding to stay here for some stupid self-condemning reason, I am not letting you do that alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Richie—“

“And don’t you dare say something about Eddie. I’m not going anywhere without you - you are my best friend. And you said yourself - you had— **you have** an excellent life. Don’t you want to return to it? You deserve to be happy Stan, all the Losers do.” _Oh boy, If Richie followed his own advice as often as he gave them._

Stan looks like he wants to argue, but then something shifts in his face, and instead, he states, “I miss Patty.”

It takes a few seconds for Richie to remember that this is the name of Stan’s wife and he clutches his hand tighter. “Then you are going to see her soon, right?” Richie doesn’t let go of the warm clasp of their limbs and gets his attention back to the waiting giant. “Is it just that simple - poof and we are alive? And we are not going to be, like, some sort of zombie-living dead type of things?” Stan elbows him in the side, and Richie grimaces.

“SO IT IS DECIDED.” Maturin declares and the universes he had brought along shake and ramble. Richie gawks in anticipation until Stan nudges him in the side. He is met with the softest look the man has ever given him in his whole life.

“Let me give you a piece of advice of my own. Didn’t think I was going to actually say it in person, only on paper but…” He trails off and then gives Richie one of Stan’s rarest tender open smiles. “Be who you want to be Richie, be proud. Don’t be afraid to be happy. Take this chance and _try_ to be happy, okay? Maybe your happiness is someone else’s too.”

Richie wants to reply so much to that but before he could say or ask anything else, the harsh push tunnels his vision. Darkness overtakes the surroundings around, and he falls once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to reread Stan’s letter to think if I wanted to add something more from it and I nearly cried again.
> 
> …
> 
> Same as I had to rewatch Eddie’s death scene to get what was going on when writing the first chapter. And that time I cried like a bitch.
> 
> P.S. My friend read the chapter and was like - Damn I started reading and the first thing I saw was _"Richie opens his eyes - everything is gay."_
> 
> I'm like, well u r not wrong, it's Richie's vision 24/7.


	5. Luminous Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is finally here! The awaited reunion where these babies - grown-ass men - can finally be happy and together. Have I already mentioned that I love writing their dialogues?

⦾⦾⦾

Richie opens his eyes - everything is white. He inhales, and it rips a rough cough out of him. He blinks for his eyes to adjust, and they sting. There is another person in a room. At least Richie guesses there is considering everything is a blur without his glasses. He really should contemplate upon having eye surgery, he thinks if he doesn’t do it soon, he will eventually go blind. The orange spot flutters, rising from the place opposite to Richie and it seems like the person is saying something. It’s muffled, but he can discern it to be a female voice. So he puts the two and two together.

“Bev?” He tries and then is immediately shocked at how gravelly his voice feels. **_Ha!_** _Get it? Cause he died. Is it too soon for Richie to joke about that stuff?_

Pleasantly warm hands land on his shoulder and chest. Now that she is closer, Richie can see it is indeed Beverly. Her face zigzags between different kinds of emotions, mouth moving frantically. He doesn’t understand any of it - chirping sound of cicadas overtake his auditory mechanism. He presumes it is something nice because she is smiling and a few tears fall from her eyes.

His hearing comes back, all together in a flash like the radio static had been suddenly turned to the working frequency, and he catches her babble. “Richie, oh my God! Wait a second I’ll be right back, honey. _Don’t move!_ ” The woman strides hurriedly towards the door, peeping her head out like she is calling someone.

Even if Richie wanted to move, he has a conviction that he is not quite capable of it right now. His body is numb and aching though there is no particular drastic pain, contradicting the fact that half of his chest is supposed to be gone. He peers down, as much as his lying position permits it, and reaches uncertainly to lift a blanket covering him. There are no bandages, no blood - just a plain hospital gown. Richie wants to touch it but is interrupted by a set of footsteps and a door creaking. The covering drops from his hand, and he watches another person enter the room. It isn’t the doctor as Richie had expected, because the outfit - the colors of it more precisely - doesn’t match.

Richie squints trying to make his eyesight moderately sharper and observes the man freeze. He is sure it is a man, he is sure it is—

“Richie?…” He wouldn’t have caught it if the room wasn’t so silent in the first place, aside from the systematic beeping of the machines.

“Eds?” Despite his shit vision, Richie notices Eddie - _fucking Christ, Eddie, alive again, in the same room with him_ \- flinch and suck in a sharp breath. He doesn’t move from the door though, just stares. Richie thinks he is and he can’t stand it. There are three people in the room, and none of them opens their mouth, which makes him fidgety. Mentally fidgety since his body is overworked to the point of not responding to his anxious urges. His mouth does it instead, like always. “Howzit been on the land of the living, fella? We don’t have self-lacing Nike shoes yet?”

“Shoes?… What the fuck… What—“ _Oh, hey, there he is._ Richie seems to have set something in motion, getting Eddie all riled up, huffing in frustration. He has yet to decide if it is good or bad. “What the fuck Richie? What— **What the actual fuck.** What in the living hell are you talking about?”

Eddie’s breathing heavies and Richie registers him coming closer to bed with aggravated steps echoing down the floor. Richie’s gaze travels with the figure, and he relaxes his eyes, seeing the man merely half a meter away. Eddie looks bushed and soft at the same time. His hair is clean apart from being rather tousled, ends curling. His face is wrenched in certain emotion which is not screaming good - sienna eyes staring down in fury. _He is stunning despite him being seconds away from tearing Richie to pieces._

“What were you thinking, dipshit?! Careless… You are so fucking careless and stupid - you just wanted to get yourself killed? Is there absolutely no gray matter in your stupid excuse of a brain?! Did you use it all up when we were apart? No wonder your material fucking sucks! You fucking—You—“ Eddie is a speeding train of words and insults. It really shouldn’t be comforting, but it is. _It helps._ It helps because he is alive and full of energy, even if it’s focused at affronting Richie. “And now it's all fun and giggles for you? Like this is some kind of a joke? What have the others—What have **I** felt! You had no right to leave me alone again like this! Especially after you— _After…_ I hate you! You are-Y-you— ** _Oh Fuck._** _You died, Richie—_ “

The man’s voice breaks into a high pitched whimper as he falls to his knees and begins to cry convulsively. _Now, this is bad._ It is better to deal with shouting Eddie than crying Eddie. He never knows what procedure to undertake in these situations, he enters into a full panic mode and freezes. Eddie doesn’t like to be touched when stressed - it gets him bothered even further. Eddie had always been the one in their friendship to soothe Richie’s tearful outbursts with physical contact and comforting words. Richie’s course of actions in the same position had been: 1) keeping the boy company, sitting near, with just smallest of touches 2) shutting the fuck up.

Turning his head around he remarks Beverly had left the room sometime while Eddie was flaring Richie with accusations. _Good fucking timing._ His gaze drops to one of Eddie’s shaking hands. It clutches the sheets on the edge of the bed, alongside his bowed head. Richie lightly rubs his pinky against smooth knuckles and Eddie’s head abruptly straightens, bloated eyes snapping up to meet Richie’s.

“Eddie, sor—“ The man suddenly lunges forward, not letting Richie finish his apology - _once in his life he has tried to apologise_ \- and hugs him tight.

Richie lets out a surprised _oof_ , and Eddie proceeds to snivel and tremble now occupying the top part of his torso. After a moment of hesitation, he reciprocates, enveloping himself in the smell of lavender and sea salt shampoo. His body hurts a bit, but Richie is not the one to complain. Not when he can be joined with Eddie like this, sensing the lukewarm breath on his skin through the cloth. So he allows himself to relish in this intimacy for as long as Eddie will desire.

Half an hour later Richie had been discharged from the hospital and let out to roam free in the wild again. Since he has no severe injures and is no longer in a coma, they didn’t want him to take extra space. As if he longed to stay there anyway. The doctor gave him some medicine, however. Mainly painkillers for his body soreness and headache, which has decided to strike around 20 minutes after his resurrection. Talking about which - the medics were surprised at his unexpected awakening, taking into account the state of his body which, on the contrary, didn’t get much spotlight. _Don’t they care about a huge fucking scar which is, like, you know,_ ** _sealed with some identified golden substance._** _Like, what the fuck is it?_

During the time of his mandatory examination before being released, all the other Losers had arrived. _Oh, and they cried._ Mike and Ben cried. Bill cracked when he told him about his reunion with Stan on the other side. They cried, even more, when they received a call from Atlanta informing them of a miraculous occurrence.

Later in the Inn Richie finally discovers what had happened after… Well, after he died. He thought, when he woke up in the hospital, that perhaps he was in some type of oblivion - swaying on the tightrope between life and death. He imagined that the Losers had actually carried him out against his own volition, similar to how he craved to do with Eddie. Apparently not. He really did die, for a day. And they were convinced he did until they found him. Until Eddie suggested to find him. Richie doesn’t hold any grudge against them, quite the opposite - he is thankful they left or they could’ve been injured too.

The thing is, Richie can’t get rid of that one conception nagging profusely at his cerebral gyri. _If he has gotten out alive after being stabbed, there is a possibility Eddie could have too._ It’s not an implication that he regrets them switching places. **No.** He would rather eat a bowl of barbed wire than see Eddie suffering again. All of that wasn’t real, he understands. It wasn’t even an experience of parallel universes or time travel - it was a fake loop of torment Pennywise had set up. But he still saw Eddie die, _oh so many times,_ and maybe… Maybe he finds consolation thinking that after all those incidents he could have witnessed Eddie be revived too.

In spite of everything, there is still a dense veil of unknown hanging upon the mechanics of his awakening. Bill told him they found his body the next day, and then he was out for two days approximately. This begs a question - what had awoken him? Not like this is a super paramount question but Richie can’t help to wonder. When he inquired about it, Beverly had looked at him thoughtfully and then, for some reason, only smiled and tapped her lips.

There is another problem Richie reckons while being sprawled on the bed alone in his room after all the fuss is done. He is kinda stuck on what to do next. He didn’t plan that far ahead. For a few hours, all of them had been in this bubble where Richie had been the centre of attention, and he felt at home. They do care, they are beyond happy he is alive and kicking, yet it is evident they all itch to resume their lives. Well, not entirely resume, more to reconstruct, but that's beside the point. Richie is once again faced with the complication he was so afraid of, and he is too tired to deal with it. What can he do with his life? Stan told him to try to be happy.

“Ugh, being happy is hard, Stanley.” Richie announces to the empty room and is reminded of the same deserted house he resides in.

He turns on his side, inhaling deeply. _It smells like lavender in here._ Afore he can expand upon that thought the knock breaks the stillness of the room.

“Ya?”

“Richie, can I come in?” Eddie asks as if he is not already halfway through entering the apartment. Richie rests his cheek on his palm to look up at him. He is glad he always carries a spare pair of glasses in his bag (thanks to the numerous incidents). “Are you okay? What are you doing?”

“Just chilling.” With a bounce, he scoots up to the end of the mattress and places elbows on his thighs, leaning his chin on them. “What’s up?”

Eddie remains in the doorway looking like he is conflicted at what to do next. There is a paper bag in his hand, and Richie nods to it, questioning.

“Oh! This. I-I brought you a lemonade.” Richie's eyebrows quirk up slightly in curiosity. “It’s not too cold so you wouldn’t freeze your brains out and it might be mollifying, I thought. I don’t—I don’t know if you like them these days. I mean, but, I mean—that diner which we used to go. It was nice. It is still there, and I went—I went there and got it. It was your favourite… They also had these small pastry buns which you like too. Used to like.” He pauses for a second to take a breath and looks down. “I thought about getting coffee, but since you have a migraine, I don’t think it is a good idea. At least for me, it doesn’t really help. Naturally, it doesn’t mean it would be the same for you. Some of the medicine they gave you doesn’t have the slightest effect on me. But you know, everyone's body is different and…”

Eddie continues to rumble about various bodies having various responses to medicine and stuff while Richie gives him a thorough once over. He didn't pay attention to it earlier, with the commotion going on around, and his glasses being absent. Now when it is peaceful, and they are alone, he notices.

“Is it… Eds, is it my hoodie?” Eddie stops his tirade and looks down at himself. His eyes snap back to Richie’s while his cheeks blossom scarlet. “You steal my clothes, Kaspbrak?”

“I— _fuck._ It was, I was… I can take it off if you—“

“No, keep it. It suits you.” **_Fuck._** “The color suits you - you look cute.” Richie feels every end of his muscles tense up. Blush crawls up his neck as Eddie stares back at him with the look he can’t quite unravel. **_Fuuuuuck._** _Don’t be a fucking creep, Richie. Is he a creep, though? Eddie is the one who kinda stole his clothes so…_

They stay in awkward silence until Eddie’s face relaxes into something more placid, lips puckering in a way when he struggles to hide his smile.

“Shut up. I’m not cute, jackass.” He flops next to Richie on the bed, knees brushing.

 _Shit. Danger zone, Tozier. Keep your facade together,_ He mentally prompts himself, diving into the paper bag of snacks as a distraction from their proximity.

Richie realises what he had said back there. He sort of didn’t expect to be alive to confront the repercussions of his confession. It is hazy, and he doesn’t distinctly recall what Eddie had replied, how he had responded. He also isn’t sure if Eddie holds on to that memory or thinks it was just nonsensical mumbles. There is a huge part of him that hopes, the man will spare him and will not bring this embarrassment to the centre of the stage.

“How’re you feeling? Does your head hurt as much?” Eddie asks instead, and Richie’s nerves unwind a bit. He munches at the pastry. _Eddie was right it is the one he liked._

“Aye aye, Dr K back in the business? Are you gonna wear a nurse costume too for the complete look?” Eddie shoots him a dirty look, and Richie’s smirk collapses a little. “I’m fine, Eds. Really. As fine as you can be after you—After everything that had happened.”

Something flickers in Eddie’s ochre eyes as he studies his face. The man wets his lips, and Richie’s eyes dart down to catch the motion.

“Did you mean what you said back there.” _Well, shit. So much for Richie’s hopes again._

“I said a lot of shit dude, I don’t even remember.” _But he does, so clearly._ Richie shifts uncomfortably, thinking of how he can avoid the topic which is threatening to come up. “I’ve lived like a thousand variations of that day. Plus, there was a massive fucking hole in my chest wider than your mom’s—“

The end of the sentence dies in his throat as he peers up. He expects a disgusted grimace or at least a scowl but is met with a stern look - face pinched in that typical Eddie fashion. Not the cute one - the soul-piercing one. He hated when Eddie gave him that look. His eyes are filled with so much determination and power that Richie feels himself drowning in it. Eddie then glances somewhere over Richie’s shoulder as his brows furrow to the point of almost mixing with his lashes, and he bites his bottom lip. The gears in his brain are working very hard to solve a problem, it seems. Then he lets his gaze meet with Richie’s again.

“You said you loved me.” Eddie says it so easily now that for a second Richie is speechless.

“Y-yeah,” He gulps, attempting to steady his voice. “You are my friend, of course, I love you. I love all of you guys.”

That is the weakest ass excuse he could’ve come up with, and Eddie must think the same because he responds, “Not in that way, Richie.” It is in a harsh yet softest voice only he can ever pull, and Richie shivers.

_Well, what else I got to lose? I had fucking died maybe it’s time to finally put all the cards on the table. Following your advice, I guess. If I will be left heartbroken, it is your fault, Stan._

“Yeah,” Richie replies, threading his fingers together for some comfort. “I know.”

Eddie blinks at him, cocking his head to the side, waiting for him to continue. _Fuck he is so cute. And so hot in Richie’s clothes, shit._

“I—fuck. I was dying, and I never got to tell you. I just wanted… I wanted to tell you so bad. It had scratched my fucking throat so many times but with Derry, Bowers, Pennywise, _all_ this fucked up shit, I never got to. You know, I… I almost did, when-when I was leaving for college. I really was going to but…” Richie pauses to lament once more over the missed opportunity. “I knew you wouldn’t detest me for it and let me down gently, but I didn’t want things to be awkward between us. You are my friend, and I didn’t want to lose you…” He nearly laughs at the meaninglessness of his efforts. “And yet I **did** lose you, for God knows how long. And then I got you back. And I remembered and you were all the same and—And… And then you died. So many times, I couldn’t I just— _I just…_ ”

“So you did see me die. “Eddie states mostly to himself. It’s quite odd this is what he decides to focus on. On the other hand, it’s probably for the best he fixates on that and not on the topic of Richie’s big gay love. “How-How many times have you seen?…”

“I’ve lost count after ten,”

“Rich… I’m so sorry you—“

“Months.” Eddie turns his head slowly to stare at him in shock and pity. His eyebrows crease so hard that Richie wants to put his finger there and smooth the wrinkles out. _Which is not a good idea to do, by the way. Trust him on that._

Richie exhales.

“I just wanted it to stop, stop seeing you die. It was unbearable.” Though Maturin said it was a “ _selfless sacrifice_ ”, Richie sees it as the most selfish thing he had done yet. There is a thin line between wanting to stop Eddie’s suffering and wanting to stop his own. To be honest, they are sort of interconnected. _Always were, at least from his side._ “I don’t know if Bev had experienced the same, but it mismatches with what she told us. Time felt so different… And I remembered everything.” He slumps, eyes examining the lines between mahogany floorboards. “Every little thing from the past, before it was fogged. It’s so weird to remember it all at once. Not only to remember but to _relive_. Before there were small ripples and then the Deadlights had crashed down one big fucking wave on me. And I remembered you. You… How much I loved you.”

Richie shuts his mouth then and doesn’t dare to look at his side. He stalls - a tensed bubble waiting to explode by minuscule faulty touch.

“I wished I was brave enough to tell you.” Eddie’s voice says quietly. Richie furrows his brows, turning his head slightly in the man’s direction. “That was my wish. You asked me what it was back then, the night before you left for college. You always made me feel so brave. You were— **are** so brave for me, I want to be too.” With that he puts a hand on Richie’s forearm, making him look up into those gentle eyes. “Rich.”

Richie feels the hair on his arms stand up with how the other man stares at him. Without warning, Eddie pushes forward connecting their lips, and all Richie’s thoughts seize to exist. He even forgets to breathe with how flabbergasted he is. His recovery is quick, though, and he closes his eyes, trying to enjoy whatever the fuck is happening. Around five seconds pass, and the pressure is gone with a faint click. Richie opens his eyes and feels warm breath graze his lips as they are still so close.

“Huh.” It is the only thing his brain computes to say.

Eddie’s dazed face rapidly transforms into perturbed as his hooded eyes widen. “What? That is your reaction - a fucking “Huh”?”

“Uh…”

“Oh. _Oh._ Oh Jesus, you never— **Fuck.** You said you loved me, but you never said you are still—” He gasps and retracts his hand from where it has been settled nicely on Richie’s arm. He frowns at the loss of contact. “I-I fucking mistook everything. Shit. _I’m sorry!_ And here I thought… The moment I try to be brave… I’m so sorry, I—” Eddie springs up to his feet, and that breaks Richie from the trance.

“No!” Richie says loudly and hastily grabs the man’s wrist, stopping him from getting away. “I—I do. Still. I love you.” Eddie carefully sits back down, the ambers of anxious energy radiating from him. “It was just stupid fucking wording, it seemed pretty poetic to me at the time.”

“You were dying, and you tried to come up with some tragic love confession bullshit?” Eddie narrows his eyes, watching him.

“Hey, what can I say, that’s literally my profession. I wanted to have memorable last words. And I was, like, so dazed from the blood loss and everything.”

“You are the impersonation of stupidity.” Eddie says irked but doesn’t remove the hand which remains in Richie’s grip.

“Well, yours were “ _I fucked your mum_ ”, which are quite hilarious if you ask me, but not when you are fucking choking on your own blood.” Richie says and cringes at his tone. “So which one of us is dumb,” He continues softer. “I proclaimed my undying love for you, and you wanted to insult me one last time.”

“Wha—Really?”

“Yeah. Every. Fucking. Time.”

“So I didn’t even…” Eddie mutters looking a little glum and then shakes his head. He turns to Richie and is already diving in for another kiss, but Richie stops him. Eddie glances at the hand on his shoulder and then at him perplexed.

“What, u-um, what ‘bout your wife, uhhhh,”

“Myra?” Eddie supplies as his brows rise. It looks like he himself is surprised by her name coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah, that lovely lady.”

“Actually,” Eddie peers down and strokes his thumb along the defined vein on Richie’s wrist. “I… I was talking to her right before you woke up. I told her we are finished.”

“Oh, like…”

“Divorced.” The word cuts sharply through the air and tips of Richie’s ears heat up for some reason. “Well, not yet, but going to.”

“Good for you, man.” He says because that’s what he is supposed to say to a friend who just kissed him and then told him he had divorced his wife, right? ”And she didn’t, like, throw a tantrum or anything.”

“Oh no, she did.” Eddie lets a small grin appear on his lips. “But when your husband tells you he is gay there is not much you can protest about.”

Richie blinks. “…You’re gay?”

Eddie blinks back at him. “Richie, I kissed you.”

“I mean…”

“I’m in love with you.” Eddie claims, and Richie leans back as if the words had physically hit him.

“ _You are!?_ ”

“What do you think all of this was?” Eddie motions with his hand between himself and Richie flustered.

“Um, pity kisses?…” Richie offers weakly and understands that he is very stupid. Eddie exhales through the nose and gives him a venomous look leaning closer.

“ _Richie,_ ”

“Mh?” He squeaks.

“I love you.” Eddie says practically in Richie’s mouth, and he melts.

This time Richie is more prepared for the kiss, angling his head so their noses wouldn’t smash. He brings his hand up to caress the uncut cheek, and Eddie opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. At the same time, his hand comes to clench at Richie’s shirt. _Fuck. He tastes so good. It is unmistakably better than mud and blood. And he responds too._ Eddie breaks the kiss, gulping for air and puts his chin on Richie’s shoulder. In turn, Richie smooches him behind the ear.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie exhales, and it tickles his skin. “If I had let you talk back then and didn’t run away maybe we could have—I was so upset.”

“You were furious. You hated me.” Richie nuzzles at the flushed cheek.

“I didn’t want you to leave, and you decided to tell me in the last fucking moment. You are an asshole, by the way. It hurt. **A lot.** ” He feels Eddie’s shoulders tense as the man snuggles his face in Richie’s shirt.

“Sorry, I was scared. Didn’t want to upset you.”

“I think, your logical circuit is jammed - you are never making any fucking sense.” There is a pause, and Richie uses it to slide his hand further, threading his fingers in Eddie’s hair. “You know I would have followed you. When… when you said New York I searched some universities for myself too so we could…”

“Oh.” Richie’s chest constricts, and he once again thinks that he is a moron. He knew that already but sometimes he forgets. _Maybe he needs to include a new member to his family of sticky notes named “Things I forget because I have an attention span of a goldfish” above his working table._ “I suppose, we’re both kinda idiots.”

“You are the bigger one in this relationship.” Richie stops twirling a strand of brown hair and pulls back to glance at the man.

“Yo-you want it to be a relationship?” He asks, and Eddie’s hand drops.

“I have gone through my life not being certain about many things.” He declares, fumbling with the zipper of Richie’s jacket. “I want to be with you - that is one thing I am completely certain about. Do you want to be with me?” The man stares at him searching for confirmation, and Richie wonders why it is even a question.

“Do I want—Eddie, what are you asking?” Eddie’s face falls, and Richie figures he has structured the question wrong, so he quickly corrects. “Of course I fucking want that, isn’t it obvious? How could I not want you - _I love you._ ”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his whole face heats up. He doesn’t tear his gaze away, however, and sees Eddie’s wide grin gradually stretching across his face, reaching his eyes. He wants to kiss it. And so he does because he is allowed to. And because Eddie loves him. And who cares if they spend the rest of the afternoon making out, Eddie panting sweet noises into Richie’s mouth as his tongue grazes Richie’s teeth.

In the evening all of them organise another “official” Looser’s meeting coupled with the take out celebration (not Chinese and without any cookies) as they discuss the future. And Richie is still beyond being confident about his next steps. He can’t paint a full picture yet. But maybe, with Eddie holding his hand and beaming at him with such an affectionate look, he can see the outline of his—of **their** future shining through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☆Thank you for reading, subscribing, commenting and leaving kudos for this work! Hope you liked it since it was my first time writing any type of fanfiction.☆
> 
> This is **not the end** of the story, though. I am planning to do a continuation single chapter with some spice in it if you want to read it 😏. I didn’t want to include it in here since there would be too many tags and different rating. But I’m going to make it as a collection piece, so stay tuned!
> 
> P.S. The next chapter is a bonus artwork.


	6. Bonus Artwork!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add it here. This is where my obsession with seeing roles reversal started: search for fanfics with the prompt I suddenly get obsessed with ⇨ don’t find any ⇨ draw the artwork of it ⇨ write the fic yourself.

[Original](https://www.instagram.com/p/B92DdcWAej_)


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